


A Strange Place In time - Book IV:  Flowers and Darkness

by The_Magic_Rat



Category: A Strange Place In Time
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magic_Rat/pseuds/The_Magic_Rat
Summary: Yes, these are complete chapters of Book IV. Please keep in mind there may be changes in the future and that this is not the final published form.
Relationships: Arrowsmith/Infamous, Blackbird/Moonhound, Blue/Misty, Monshikka/Wess, Moonhound/Blackbird, and Sly/Whatever goes on in his head.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	1. Prelude:  A Single Purple Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, these are complete chapters of Book IV. Please keep in mind there may be changes in the future and that this is not the final published form.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
>  **This is First Age Dargoth, meaning the Court is not yet the Court. First Age names are as follows –**   
>  _
> 
> _  
> **Snow Wolf – The Moonhound.  
>  Hercandoloff – Blackbird.  
> Athsfalia – Misty.  
> Ilenya Skywolf – Infamous.  
> Wess – Same name.  
> Huarwar/Harry – Arrowsmith.  
> Sly – Same name.  
> Aldesing – Monshikka.  
> Blue – Same name.**  
> _

The rain fell heavily, beating against the basement windows of the old house. Occasionally the sound of rain would be interrupted by the violent surf of a car passing by too fast for conditions, and a wave of water would pound on the glass, threatening to break it. 

“So is this how you envisioned married life?” Snow Wolf asked dryly.

Hercandoloff sat on the floor, bent over a pile of books and papers resting on the coffee table before him. 

“Yeah it’s great,” he mumbled, clearly distracted. 

The red-haired woman watched him as he stared at the arcane glyphs and wards on the pages of the old book.

“Oh look, my clothes fell off,” she said. 

He turned a page. Snow Wolf rolled her eyes and stood up. 

“I’m going to an orgy. I’ll be back next week.”

She did not go to an orgy. Instead she went into the kitchen in their little basement suite to find one of their several roommates attempting to bake something. 

“Athsfalia what are you doing?”

The big-shouldered blonde half-elf kept stirring. “Trying to make honey muffins, but this recipe is crap.”

“And yet you keep stirring, ensuring that they will be rubbery with great big peaks.”

He stopped stirring, just staring into the bowl. “Is that what I am doing wrong?”

“Yes. Muffins are only stirred until mixed. Not blended into glue.”

He sighed. “Okay, well that is one mystery of the universe solved. I suppose it’s too late to save this batch, so I may as well bake them.”

He turned on the oven to let it warm, then began spooning muffin batter into a pan. Snow Wolf poked at something in a pot. Athsfalia glanced at her.

“You know if your little husband out there accomplishes what he’s setting out to do, we’ll all be cooking our dinner on hot rocks. No TV, no computers, no internet, no on-line porn…”

“I love the way your mind goes to the important things. Can you shift that bowl of rice over to the table, please?”

He did, but as he turned he managed to somehow trip over his own feet – a most uncommon thing for an elf to do, even a half-elf. As he fell, the bowl was flung high into the air, where it did two complete summersaults before landing in the center of the table upside-down. 

“SUPPER’S ON THE TABLE!” yelled Snow wolf, as Athsfalia picked himself up from the floor.

The door burst open, and nine-year-old Ilenya Skywolf tore into the room.

“OH BOY FOOD, MY FAVOURITE! Why is it under the bowl? Hey anybody wanna see what I found?!”

Athsfalia watched the child slowly right the bowl, then use a serving spoon to move some of the rice onto his plate. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you, I gotta show you, because if I tell you, you won’t believe me!”

“After dinner,” said Snow Wolf wearily, stirring something in the pot.

“Are we having black glop again?”

“Yes,” said Snow Wolf.

“YAY I love black glop.”

The kitchen door opened, and in stepped a young man with long brown hair, tied back into a wet, messy ponytail, carrying a very large bundle wrapped in oilskin. His glasses were steamed up, and despite being soaked through and dripping, he was grinning.

“Where is the future Wizard-King of Dargoth?”

“In what we laughingly refer to as the living room,” said Snow Wolf, spooning ‘black glop’ onto Ileyna’s rice. “What have you got there?”

“Oh this big mysterious bundle? This would be the only known tome in existence of the spells of the Crystal Mages.”

There were gasps from those gathered in the kitchen. 

“WESS!” exclaimed Snow Wolf. “How did you get that?! The museum wouldn’t let us even LOOK at it, let alone take it out for a closer examination! How did you get it?”

“Stole it.”

“STOLE IT?! You STOLE it?! Wess are you crazy?! That book is priceless, they’ll throw us in jail until we’re too old to remember why you stole it in the first place!”

“That is beside the point. We must consider the long-term goal and set aside the conventional laws of the time,” said Wess. 

She leaned forward and sniffed him. “And you’ve been smoking dragon-weed again.”

“Also beside the point.”

“Boy I wish I was training to be a priest of Shallougha, so I could steal things and smoke stuff that makes me act funny,” muttered Ilenya.

“We’ll tell you about your grandfather someday,” said Snow Wolf, setting the pot aside and hustling Wess out of the kitchen. “Oh darling husband of mine…”

Hercandoloff didn’t move. Sighing loudly in aggravation, she picked him up and physically turned him to face Wess, who grinned soggily.

“I have a present for you!” he lilted.

“Is it a study with a lock on the door?” asked Hercandoloff.

“Locked studies are irrelevant as we all exist in the solitary reality of our own minds. And no, it’s a book.”

“You’ve been smoking dragon-weed again.”

“What is it with you people and your concern for mortal laws?”

“We like keeping our mortal asses out of jail,” said Hercandoloff. “Show me the book.”

Wess unwrapped the tome and set it down on the old rickety coffee table, which did not seem strong enough to support it. The three moved aside anything that may possibly harm the book, then stepped back and gazed at it in reverence. 

“Who besides me is afraid to touch that?” asked Hercandoloff. Wess deftly handed him a pair of gloves.

“Here. They use these in the archives when handling the ancient books.”

The pair settled down to examine the manuscript, just as Athsfalia and Ilenya came out of the kitchen. 

“Come on!” insisted Ilenya. “I want to show you what I found!”

“Can we look tomorrow?” asked Snow Wolf, eyeing the pounding rain.

“Nuh-uh,” said Ilenya. “Someone will take it! And I can’t carry it myself! Oh – and bring your skinning knife. You’ll want it.”

She shrugged and went for her skinning knife, cloak, and a very large basket with a cover. Then she, Athsfalia, and Ilenya went out into the rain, running up the flight of concrete steps that led to the sidewalk. Twin Lakes was a difficult town to live in if one was a student, and not wealthy. The only way they were able to afford the house in which they lived was because they had eight people living together sharing utilities, and the landlord was effectively using the young students as free labour to repair it. There was studying and working and the raising of Hercandoloff and Snow Wolf’s foster-son, Ilenya. It was a busy household, but a happy one.

They reached the sidewalk and pulled their capes close to shield themselves from the rain and the spray washed up by the passing cars. It was becoming dark, and the streetlights cast a strange surreal glow.

“Ilenya you had better found something pretty special to get us out in this!” said Athsfalia.

“You won’t be mad when you see it! Come on!”

They followed the little boy down the street, reaching a small construction site; a pit was being dug beside the road to repair the drainage system. Ilenya bounded down the rocks and mud, the adults following grumpily. Ilenya waited for them at the bottom of the pit, then ran over to the broken cistern and pointed into it.

“Look!”

Snow Wolf and Athsfalia did. It was hard to determine what they were staring at, but after a few minutes Athsfalia drew a quiet gasp and approached what Ilenya had found. He knelt beside the two bodies, reaching out to touch the ice-white fur.

“Mycinocroft…” he said. 

Snow Wolf drew near, and knelt beside him. “Looks like they died fighting.”

The two creatures did indeed appear to have died locked in mortal combat. There was a male and a female, and she had her long, savage teeth buried in his muzzle. How the female had died was not apparent, but the male had clearly died from suffocation. Athsfalia drew a flashlight out of his cloak and turned it on, shining the light on the two creatures. Snow Wolf pointed out markings on their fur.

“Look – white with black tipped ears, and black spots above the eyes. Never seen this colouration before.”

“I have,” said Athsfalia. “It’s called Royal. And they’re so rare that people who happen to own the fur of one are often called upon to prove they didn’t dye the fur themselves. Snow… we are looking at about three million gold in fur here.”

“I better skin them carefully, then.”

“Carefully and quickly. If we get caught we’ll be in trouble.”

Snow Wolf glanced at him. “What for?”

“This is private property. That means those pelts belong to whoever owns this cistern.”

“Yeah well what they don’t know won’t hurt us,” said Snow Wolf. “What is it Wess says? Why are we always so concerned with mortal laws?”

“He’s a bad influence,” said Athsfalia. “Ilenya, you skip on home. We’ll be along soon.”

“Okay!”

Ilenya departed with uncharacteristic haste, clearly not caring for the cold and rain any more than the adults did. Athsfalia held the flashlight for Snow Wolf as she worked quickly and efficiently, removing the pelts up to the jaw, then carefully removed the heads, leaving the pelt whole.

“Why are you bringing those along?” he asked. 

“Because it’s difficult enough skinning the head of a one and a half million gold creature without doing it in the dark and the rain. We can take them home and finish them, and use the brain for tanning.” She tucked the bloodied furs into the basket, then rose to her feet, taking Athsfalia’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

They left the pit, heading back to their house, where Ilenya was already in his pyjamas and awaiting them at the door.

“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”

“Ask Herc,” said Snow Wolf.

“You’re no fun. Did you get the furs?”

Hercandoloff and Wess were still poring over the book, but they looked up as they heard the word “fur”.

“What did you kill?” asked Hercandoloff.

“We didn’t kill anything,” said Athsfalia. “A couple of mycinocroft seemed to have killed each other. Take a look at this.”

He reached into the basket and pulled out a bloodied white pelt. Their jaws dropped.

“Those are Royals!” said Wess. 

“They are indeed,” said Athsfalia. 

Snow Wolf removed her cape and blouse, hanging them up. She then tied back her long red hair. 

“You boys will have to ogle while I work, those pelts are not getting any fresher, and I am _very_ reluctant to let them rot.”

A very large man walked into the room then; a man who towered above their heads, dressed in a long tunic and boots. More than his garb, however, indicated he was from very far away; there was his difficulty in understanding the language, his over-all size, and his obvious discomfort with pretty much everything around him. They had no idea from where he had come; all they knew was they had found him roughly seven weeks ago, terrified, at the edge of the town and brought him home. Slowly but surely the huge man was adjusting and learning their tongue. They could not wait until he spoke it well enough to tell them where he was from. All they knew was his name was Huarwar, which they had shortened to Harry.

“Harry,” said Snow Wolf, “would you like to help me prepare the furs?”

He did not seem to understand what she asked him, so he simply shook his head. She and Athsfalia carried the pelts into the kitchen, just as a strange little man with eerie pale grey eyes walked out of the kitchen. He had a large fish in his mouth, and he was growling. He settled on the floor like a dog to eat it.

“That man needs psychological help,” said Hercandoloff.

“Are you kidding?” said Wess. “Do you know how much money he saves us in security?”

“He needs a name,” said Hercandoloff. “We can’t just keep calling him ‘Growlie-pants’. It’s disrespectful.”

“I propose ‘Sylvannamyth’. It’s elegant, strong…”

“And it means ‘Growlie-pants’ in Fae.”

“So who is going to know besides you, me, and any random fairies we happen across?”

Hercandoloff shrugged. “It will do for now I suppose. But he needs a proper name.”

Ilenya sat down on the carpet beside Sylvannamyth, stroking the stripe of soft fur that ran down his back. “Can I watch ‘Blood Manor’ before bed?”

“Is your homework done?” asked Wess.

“Yeeeesss…”

“Teeth brushed?” asked Hercandoloff.

“Noooo… I hate brushing my teeth! Toothpaste tastes horrible.”

“Listen to your dad,” said Wess.

“He’s not my dad,” said Ilenya. There was no malice to the remark, merely a statement of fact.

“Well he may have been in a previous life,” said Wess.

“You’re weird.”

Wess just shrugged. Ilenya got up to go brush his teeth, and Harry went to sit on the old couch and watch what Hercandoloff and Wess were doing. He seemed fascinated by the beautiful illuminations, and he and Wess had an impromptu language lesson while Hercandoloff went off to make sure his foster son was getting his teeth brushed. There came the sound of the front door opening, then closing, and the lock snapping into place.

“Blue?” queried Wess.

“No, Aldesing,” said a voice. “Is Blue not home?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Good,” muttered Aldesing softly, “maybe we can have a pleasant evening for once.”

Wess smiled but gave no indication he heard. Aldesing could be heard hanging up his coat, then walked downstairs into the finished basement, his ice-white beauty defiled by the hideous green and white striped uniform he wore which featured a dancing pickle. 

“And how was your day today?” asked Wess.

“Terrible. I am not cut out for this sort of duty at all. Today I found myself asking people why they would like fries with that. Fortunately I will be spared the future indignity of stating that I work at Perky Pickle’s Burger Stand – I was fired.”

“I can’t see why, it’s a perfectly valid philosophical question. But what will you do now?”

Aldesing slipped out of his apron and hung it up, then pulled off the ugly paper hat and shook out his long white hair. “The local library is in need of assistants. I submitted an application, with luck I will get a call.”

Harry was carefully leafing through the beautiful book. He may not know how old it was, or what it represented, but he clearly knew how to handle it. Wess directed his attention to Aldesing.

“You know, you could just go home…”

“Yes and I could be rich again and comfortable again and leave the life of a wage-slave behind, and all I would have to do is marry some odious female I never met in real life and can scarcely tolerate on-line.”

“Why is your father so adamant you wed this woman?” asked Wess.

“Simple. I am a prince, she is a princess. We will marry and make babies and rule over Kirianna forever more. Except I can’t stand the nitwit, I don’t want to be king, and I am not entirely certain I like women. Something about them appeals to me not at all. I suspect at this rate I shall be a virgin a very long time.”

“No harm in being a virgin. Or not being one, for that matter.”

“Oh yes there is,” said Aldesing. “I have to be completely and utterly untouched on my wedding day. If I disgrace the throne with my behaviour, I and the person I defiled myself with can and will be thrown into a pit of spikes and briny sea-water full of happy little beach animals of the sort that like to burrow in human flesh. However when we actually die is left entirely up to us. Furthermore it is a requirement of my faith, and while I have little respect for my princely duties, I have infinitely more for the Creator. I should not even be wearing any colours apart from white, ice-blue, or pale silver. Certainly not this bloody pickle uniform.”

Aldesing departed for his room on the upper floor to change and wash the stink of grease-fryers off himself. Wess sighed, and looked down to the floor at Sylvannamyth, then at Harry.

“I find it very sad that I both speak the language, am a native to this land, and have all my mental faculties, and I still can’t figure this place out.”

***---***

Snow Wolf carefully prepared the furs, skinning the heads, extracting the brains, then setting the heads to boil so they could be cleaned of flesh. As she and Athsfalia worked on them, they could hear Aldesing in the next room speaking to Wess.

“That is not a happy prince,” said Snow Wolf.

“Not sure I would be either,” said Athsfalia. “Can you imagine being told who to spend your life with?”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Yes. I can. You see, I have a vagina. Apparently that means I am incapable of making any choices in life, and if I was a little more timid and dutiful, I would not be with Hercandoloff out there. I would be with the moron my father brought home from the bar for me.”

“Yeah I keep forgetting about stuff like that. Well if I have a daughter someday, I promise you she will not be marrying anybody she doesn’t want to. So, if our mage out there accomplishes what he’s setting out to do, who will you be?”

Her green eyes gleamed. “I will resurrect the cult of the Moon Goddess, eat raw meat, roll in guts, and be Lord High General of the Armies!”

“Such a darling and dainty maid, you are.” 

“I just HATE people talking to me like a small and not especially bright animal. I’m just as smart as he is, I’m certainly stronger than he is, I know how to fight, I know how battle tactics work, I could organize a strike…”

“Snow you don’t have to convince me. That’s why we’re all here, remember? You don’t need to explain to me that women are people too. We’re all just doing our best to make the world a better place.” Athsfalia ran his hand over the cold skin. “I think we should keep these.”

“Keep them? And do what with them? Wear them to the corner store to buy eggs?”

“Well we keep talking about when Hercandoloff accomplishes his goal. That is what we are all doing here, that is what we are fighting for. That’s why Wess is stealing books and you are working to support him and why I’m busking on street corners and studying at the Temple of Drakkaus. So let’s assume he finds the well. Let’s assume he opens it. Let’s assume people recognize us as their benevolent dictators. We’re going to need clothes.”

Snow Wolf grinned at him. “And who are we going to drape in Royal Mycinocroft?”

“The only person here who is truly entitled to wear it. We have a virgin prince of the Creator in our house. Why not make something for him?”

“Make…?”

“Why not?! It’ll be great! I’m a tailor, you can work fur…”

“Well what did you have in mind?”

“Something amazing, something really archaic with lots of layers and boning and…”

“And you can make this?” Snow Wolf said, clearly unconvinced. 

“Of course I can! All we need are…. Hi!”

Athsfalia’s attention was drawn by a small form in the doorway, a small young man with eyes like blue diamonds, and long white hair.

“Hi,” said the man. 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence between the two, then the man spoke.

“There’s a good crowd down at the Black Cherry Hotel. People are in the lobby to get warm. I thought we could… y’know… play.”

Snow Wolf rolled her eyes as Athsfalia looked to her. “Blue and I have crowds to entertain.”

“Uh huh. I’ll just sit here and play with dead animals.”

“Mycinocroft are not animals,” growled Blue. “They’re magical creatures. They’re sentient and intelligent.”

“Okay,” said Snow Wolf quietly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you kill them?” he demanded.

“We didn’t,” said Snow Wolf. “We found them dead. We took the pelts, yes, but we did not kill them.”

Blue looked to Athsfalia, as if he didn’t trust Snow Wolf. 

“It’s the truth,” said Athsfalia. “Look, see? They killed each other. We don’t know why but we can say they were dead when we found them.”

Blue moved closer, looking down at the cuts and tears in the male’s snout. “I wonder what they were fighting about?” He looked to Athsfalia with eyes like diamonds. “What are you going to do with them?”

Snow Wolf rolled her eyes. She had no idea exactly what Blue was, but his eye colour alone was enough to tell her he wasn’t human. That and the way he openly disliked humans.

“Well we thought we would make something for Aldesing,” said Athsfalia.

Blue seemed to forget about hating people for a moment, and his eyes brightened. “For Aldesing? For when we open the wells?”

“Yes.”

“Nobody move!” 

Blue scurried out of the kitchen and went racing off to his room. Snow Wolf looked at Athsfalia.

“So does he hate us all the time or just most of the time?”

“He really doesn’t hate any of us,” he said. “Blue is just… angry. He has a lot to be angry about. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you but I promised I wouldn’t.”

“So you know what the issue is.”

“He has told me most of it, yes. Please forgive him, for me?”

“Athsfalia as far as I can tell he hasn’t done anything I have to forgive him for, I just wish he would trust us a little. Okay, he’s angry, and he has reason. But we all have reason to be angry! I get treated like a moronic sub-human for the crime of not having a penis, my husband gets treated like some lazy mooching bastard because he lets his wife support him in his studies. You lost every friend you had because you’re not rich anymore. It’s not a contest as to who has been kicked in the teeth harder. What it comes down to is we have six people in this house actively working to achieve one goal. Harry and Growlie don’t really count, they’re just sort of along for the ride, and Ilenya is too young, but unless we all support each other and look after each other and get along together, it’s all just for nothing.”

“You’re right,” said a voice softly, as Blue walked back into the kitchen, holding a book. “I keep getting lost in my own issues but… I do want to be here. I do want to help. I do want to be part of what Hercandoloff is trying to do. It’s just… hard sometimes to see past the hurt.”

Snow Wolf walked over to him and hugged him hard. “Blue we are your friends. I know that is not always easy to believe but… we are.”

“I know. It’s just… well… enough about things I don’t want to talk about. I’m going to change the subject. Look what I have.”

Snow Wolf released Blue, and he walked to the table, setting down a book and opening it. The little bard was an endless source of surprise; it was a child’s book of fairy stories. Blue flipped to a page with a speed that suggested he knew this book well, and pointed to a picture of a man. He was tall and regal and beautiful, with skin the colour of ice, and eyes the colour of a winter morning. He was wearing a beautiful outfit of white, with a cape edged in fur – white mycinocroft, with black tips on the ears. 

“It’s the Unicorn Prince,” said Blue in a quiet, almost apologetic voice. “He’s my favourite hero.”

Athsfalia and Snow Wolf studied the painting, while Blue looked from one to the other hopefully. Then Athsfalia smiled, slipping an arm around Blue.

“Very well. We have our pattern.”

***---***

Hercandoloff sat on the steps of the great stone university, Athsfalia beside him. Both were nibbling sandwiches, watching Wess sprint across campus at a speed that would have had the track team coach salivating. Hot on his heels were three police officers. 

“Do you think they found out about the book?” asked Hercandoloff.

“More likely they found his stash of dragon weed,” said Athsfalia. “If they thought we had a multi-million gold book they wouldn’t be bothering to chase him around campus. They’d just shoot him in the knee caps. He’s fast, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” said Hercandoloff. “Hold on, he’s reversing course.”

Wess was indeed reversing course, charging straight for Hercandoloff and Athsfalia, who simply sat and watched. He approached the stairs upon which they sat from the side, tearing across the green lawn and launching himself over the stone rail. He tripped, but whether intentionally or not, they could not tell. They did notice he managed to plunk a small item into Athsfalia’s leather book bag before catching himself and racing up the steps and into the building. The police, unaware that Wess had dropped something into the bag, kept after him, although one paused to tip his hat at Hercandoloff.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

Hercandoloff fluttered his eyelashes at the officer, and said sweetly, “Yes, thank you officer, it’s so nice of you to ask.”

The cop grinned broadly, as if the little would-be mage had just made his day. He then turned to go bounding after Wess.

“Poor cop,” said Hercandoloff. “What did our resident scoff-law drop into your bag?”

“A small bag containing funny-colour incense, a couple dragon-weed cigarettes, and…. a ring?”

“He’s stealing rings, now?”

“Apparently.” Athsfalia checked his watch. “I have 45 minutes before my next lecture. I am going to run this home and hopefully get back in time for my 2pm class. I have no idea why he grabbed this, but he must have had a reason. Wess does nothing without…. reason….”

Athsfalia’s words trailed off, and he and Hercandoloff watched their friend go tearing across campus, stark naked, waving a flag that read “FREE ‘MOODY’ SIERACHIN!!”

“Maybe you should also see if we have money for bail,” said Hercandoloff.

“Forget it, I promised Blue dinner out tonight.” 

“Who is Moody Sierachin?”

“I have no idea and I am reluctant to ask. See you in class.”

Athsfalia left. Hercandoloff watched Wess streak across campus. 

“I really hope I know what I’m doing,” said Hercandoloff.

***---***

It was almost three in the morning when next Hercandoloff saw Wess, soaking wet and limping. Hercandoloff turned a page on the ancient tome, noting the limp.

“Did we pull a tendon?”

“NO! They gave me a cavity search. Bastards. Did you get the ring? And my weed?”

“Yes and yes, but why the ring?” Hercandoloff drew out the heavy golden ring, and looked at the clear green-gold stone mounted to it. “Please tell me you are at least breaking the law for a reason.”

Wess seated himself, albeit rather painfully, on the couch, taking hold of the ring. He pressed lightly upon the stone, and it opened to reveal something within; a tiny sliver of what looked to be grey wood. 

“What is this?” asked Hercandoloff.

“This, my pretty little friend, is a piece of bone from a deepwater fish known as a prophet fish. Said to be able to predict the future. No one knows if that is true or not, but what the ancients believed was that a piece of bone from this fish sealed into a gem or bit of silver could give a person the ability to understand languages. I thought Harry could use it.”

“Does look to be about Harry’s size. We could give it to him.” Hercandoloff returned the bone shard to the ring. He looked to the enormous sleeping lump on the sofa, then leaned forward to slip the ring onto his hand. Harry stirred, then opened his brown eyes.

“Do you understand us now?” asked Wess.

Harry sat up abruptly, looking afraid and surprised. “Yes! Yes I do! What magic is this?!”

“The ring we gave you,” said Hercandoloff. “It enables you to understand us.”

“It’s a miracle! You have my unending gratitude. I would have eventually come to understand you, but… this is such a relief. Thank you. I have so many questions…”

“I am sure you do,” said Wess. “And now we can answer them all for you. First of all, you may stay here with us. At least until you are comfortable enough to move on. We will look after you.”

“You have my thanks. This land of yours is truly strange to me, and I understand none of it. You have my word I will do my best to be of no burden to you.”

“We know,” said Wess quietly. “Now let me show you to your room. I know you must have a lot of questions, but…”

“I have a room?”

“Yes. We tried explaining that to you for the last two months, but…”

The door upstairs opened, then closed. There was the sound of footsteps hurrying down the steps, and Athsfalia and Snow Wolf emerged into the room. Snow Wolf was clutching a bundle wrapped in bloody cloth, and Athsfalia was holding a hatchet and a shovel. Both were soaking wet from the rain, covered in mud and looking very guilty.

“This is a lot more innocent than it looks,” said Athsfalia. 

“Grave robbing always is,” said Wess. 

“At least I didn’t drop the corpse into your school bag while the cops were chasing you,” muttered Athsfalia. 

Snow Wolf and Athsfalia carried whatever gruesome prize they had into the kitchen and proceeded to chop it up. Wess looked to Hercandoloff.

“Bet you’re glad you’re a vegetarian.”

“And getting more so by the minute,” said Hercandoloff.

***---***

And so the days went on – school, work, study, and a little incidental theft. Most of the items Hercandoloff required for his magic were either illegal or shockingly expensive, and his tiny collection of believers and friends were often reduced to digging for scraps. Wess was generally the provider of the things that violated the laws, because Wess, like many followers of the elven god of war and philosophy, simply didn’t recognize laws he regarded as nonsensical. Who in their right mind could try to place a law upon a plant? The plant had no concept of mortal laws! It was purely ridiculous. So Wess happily pilfered and planted and cultivated a veritable farm of plants with highly toxic and hallucinatory properties, acquiring whatever his wizard needed by whatever means necessary. And he wasn’t shy about admitting it, as he made quite clear when he came home with a case of wine, looking very pleased with himself.

“Wess where did you manage to get real battlefield rose wine?” Snow Wolf asked.

“Oh it was easy. I gave a pirate what money I had and then let him have his way with me. What’s for dinner?”

“Wess,” said Hercandoloff quietly, “What if I never find the well of magic and get it open?”

Wess shrugged. “Then I suppose I will do what everyone else is doing – watch the world around me rot and pretend I don’t notice. I’m going to put this someplace safe.”

Hercandoloff shook his head, then slumped back against the sofa on which he sat and brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes.

“I hope to all the gods I know what I am doing. This is such a big task for the six of us. Everyone is trying so hard, and all I do is worry I can’t keep my promises.”

“We all knew the risk,” said Snow Wolf. “That there may not be a well to find. But we have to keep looking. We may be out of our minds or grossly naïve but at least we are trying.”

“Yes, you are right. Speaking of trying, what is it exactly you and Athsfalia are up to?”

She kissed him. “It’s a secret.”

“It seemed to involve a lot of dead animal parts.”

“That’s only because it does, but don’t worry – we’re not up to anything evil.”

“So the dead animal parts are for… what?”

“Soup of course.”

“Uh huh. I think I will be having carrots for dinner.”

She smiled. “We found a dead deer on the road. We took the meat and some of the bones to use as boning in a coat. It’s perfectly good venison, there was no reason to let it rot when our finances are so tight.”

“I still think I prefer carrots.”

***---***

Late fall turned to winter. The relentless rain turned to snow, and the schools and universities closed as the snow piled too high for anyone to reach them. Businesses shut down, the power went out on a daily basis, and all of Twin Lakes braced itself against the worst storm in years. 

Within the house, peace reigned. Hercandoloff, Wess, and Aldesing attended to their studying, as did Athsfalia, when he wasn’t helping Snow Wolf with her mystery project. Blue worked on his music, and Ilenya played in the snow, digging whole underlying warrens that led to wherever it was he wished to go. Sylvannamyth dozed beside the hearth like some great and strange dog, and Harry just tried to get along as best he could in a world that made no sense to him. In other words – Harry drank until he passed out every single day.

“Well at least he has some use,” said Snow Wolf as she set her sewing basket on his back. 

“The man has issues,” said Athsfalia, carefully pinning and ironing a seam.

“We all do, that’s why we’re here,” said Snow Wolf. She shook her head. “I will be so glad when this outfit is done…”

Aldesing had some idea they were making an outfit for him, because he had been measured often enough, but he was locked out of the sewing room on the main floor where the majority of the work was taking place. How Harry had managed to get in there was a matter of speculation, but Athsfalia and Snow Wolf had too much to do to worry about it. But as the cold dark days rolled on, they worked and worked, and Harry drank and drank. Despite his vow to be no burden, he was becoming a gigantic pain in the neck.

“We have to do something about him,” said Wess to Hercandoloff and Aldesing, who were in the living room of the basement apartment. “He’s been into the rose wine. I tried explaining to him that it could do him serious harm but he’s not listening! He’s going to find the last five bottles and poison himself. That wine is for ceremonial use only, it can really hurt him.”

“I know,” said Hercandoloff, “but we can’t throw him out in the winter snow. Look, come spring, we will ask him to move out.”

“What will we do with the wine in the mean time?” asked Wess. “It’s sacred to Shallougha. I don’t mind him stealing the cheap stuff, but he’s messing with my religion.”

“Take it to my room,” said Aldesing. “I have a lock on the door of the closet where I keep that tome you stole. It might keep him out of it.”

Wess nodded, and was about to get the remaining five bottles, when Harry walked into the room. He had clearly been drinking from the bottle he stole, and his brown eyes were glazed and staring. Wess, Aldesing and Hercandoloff watched him, more than a little worried he was going to need a doctor and having no way to currently reach one. Harry stared into space, gazing at things the other three could not see.

“Harry?” said Wess quietly. “Are you okay?”

Harry continued to stare for a long moment, then at last he spoke.

“It is under the great stone in the center of the valley, hidden there for centuries by the nine who came before.”

The three exchanged glances, then Hercandoloff slowly stood up to face Harry. “What is hidden, Harry?”

“A great well that gives no water, but brings forth light and good things of the earth. A well of light, blocked by the gods, hidden by nine, and nine will make it shine once more.”

Then his eyes rolled back in his head, he rocked to and fro slightly, and finally fell over backwards in a stupefied heap with a loud thud. Hercandoloff hopped over his supine body and ran out of the room, up the stairs and to the small library on the main floor. Wess and Aldesing chased after him.

“What did he say?” asked Wess. “Herc, do you know what that drunken lump is rambling about?”

“He’s not from our land, he couldn’t know!” Hercandoloff called back.

“Know what?” demanded Wess. “Here, you slow down right now, you’ll be sick. Your lungs aren’t strong enough for this!”

They chased the tiny would-be mage into the library, and watched him tug at a large book high on a shelf. Aldesing took it down for him and set it on a table, watching as Hercandoloff opened the book.

“Harry is not from our world. He can’t know about the Crystal Mages. He can’t know there were nine of them, and he can’t know about THIS.”

Hercandoloff found a page with a photo of a valley, and pointed at it. Wess and Aldesing leaned forward to gaze at what appeared to be a boulder of truly gigantic proportions resting in the center of a wide, flat valley surrounded by mountains.

“What is that?” asked Wess.

“It’s the Stone of Harridan,” said Hercandoloff. “There is a story that says Harridan, the god of storms and disasters, at the beseeching of the Crystal Mages, blocked the well of magic beneath it with that stone.”

“Well that’s just an old tale,” said Aldesing.

“Yes,” said Hercandoloff. “But how in all the ages of this land would Harry know that? He wouldn’t! How could he?”

“Do you think maybe he… had some vision?” asked Wess. 

“The wine is a known hallucinogen,” said Hercandoloff. “Priests of Shallougha have been drinking it for years to foresee the future and make prophecies. Maybe it’s allowing Harry to do the same thing. Maybe Harry has some abilities as a Seer. Maybe Harry… annoying as he is… is part of this.”

“Oh great creation, that means we have to keep him,” moaned Wess, bringing the heels of his hands up to his eyes.

“Wess, you’re being judgemental,” Aldesing gently chided.

“He’s a great drunken boob….” moaned Wess.

“He stays,” said Hercandoloff. “I hereby declare him Seer. So that brings us up to seven. Only two more and we have a complete court.”

“Why are we calling ourselves the Court again?” asked Athsfalia.

“What should we call ourselves?” asked Hercandoloff. “The Thieving Peasants? That’s great for a music group but hardly inspires confidence.”

“I don’t know, I like it,” said Aldesing. 

“We have to keep him,” moaned Wess.

Hercandoloff patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Wess. Shallougha does nothing without a reason.”

***---***

It was almost spring, and the snow was finally beginning to relent as Athsfalia and Snow Wolf finished the ensemble for Aldesing. They stepped back to admire the assembled outfit as it hung on the dressmaker’s dummy, a work of utter beauty.

“Needs a bit of a wash,” said Snow Wolf. “It has a few smudges.”

“If I never see white fabric again it will be too soon,” said Athsfalia. 

“I wish we could have added some colour,” said Snow Wolf, reaching out to stroke the fur of one of the two mycinocroft that formed the edge of the cloak. 

“No,” said Athsfalia, “we can’t. He’s a virgin, he has to be absolutely untouched, and any “impure colours” signify he has been defiled.”

“I can’t wait to see him in this, he’s going to look _so_ gorgeous. Come on, you wash the coat, I’ll wash the shirt and breeches.”

They carried the clothes to the wash tub in the upstairs kitchen, which was larger than the one downstairs, and filled it with cool water. Carefully they began cleaning away the faint traces of dirt. Then, as the washing was done and Athsfalia held up the magnificent white coat, he froze. Snow Wolf glanced at him, and noticed a look of utter horror on his face. She was about to ask him what the problem was, when she saw what he was staring at. Perfectly visible between the two layers of white fabric, now turned translucent by the water, was a single purple thread.

“Tell me that is not in the coat,” she said.

“It’s in the coat,” confirmed Athsfalia.

“It can’t be! How could it get there?! We weren’t even using any purple fabric! Where did it come from?!”

“I have no idea, but that is a purple thread in between the layers of white fabric.”

“Well can we remove it?” asked Snow Wolf.

Athsfalia stared at the offending thread, mocking them with its purpleness. He thought about all the ironing, folding, pressing, basting, stretching, pinning….

“Well we probably could,” said Athsfalia. “The question is, do we want to after all the work we did?”

They stared at the thread. The thread stared back. 

“Screw it,” said Snow Wolf. “We’ll tell him after he gets married.”

***---***

ROUGHLY ONE THOUSAND YEARS LATER – 

Prince Monshikka Starlit, newly married, awoke in his bed beside his new husband. Wess was still asleep, nestled down into the pillows, unmoving and exhausted. Monshikka kissed him gently, then, suddenly had a very strange sensation he was not alone. He turned his head, and saw Misty and The Moonhound, perched on the foot of his bed, grinning manically.

“What do you two gargoyles want?” he asked sleepily. 

Misty positively giggled, then lilted; “We have a seeee-cret….”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are troubling times for the Court.

Unicorns. Once upon a time they had been romantic creatures of myth, and the dreams of little girls. Once upon a time they had been simply a fantasy in the minds of dreamers. That, of course, had been before John Arrowsmith wound up on Dargoth, and undergone the Recalling that had made him aware of many things, such as the fact he had been here before, he belonged here, and, oh yes, unicorns were real. 

There were a number of breeds of unicorn on Dargoth. At the top of the heap were the Sylvan Unicorns; feral and wild creatures seen by monks of the middle ages and depicted on ancient tapestries. Wild things with coats of white or pearl-grey, with cloven hooves and a lion’s tail and the beard of a goat, said to be drawn only by virgins. Then there were unicorns of the plain and veldt; more horse-like, with great spiral horns of gold or ivory. Next were the faery-unicorns of the mountains, and the sea-unicorns; wild, lean, and aggressive beasts with delicate legs and coats of black and grey, known for their tendency to kill anything in their territory, and the Creator help anyone who rode into their territory during spring when the new foals were born. If the stallions didn’t get you, the mares would.

Next on the list were the nightmares; related to unicorns the way scorpions were related to spiders, but you would never know it by looking. Nightmares were raised spirits of horses who died from cruelty, or on the battlefield. They rose like ghouls, drinking blood from the sleeping, spreading death, and leaving horrific dreams in their wake. They were rarely seen, and in most cases left no one alive to tell the tales of their passing. 

At the bottom of the ladder were the guedelph; small, sturdy, shaggy, with enormous feet not unlike a camel’s, with a broad and spongy hoof to avoid sinking into the wet mud of the marshes where they lived. They looked like floppy toys for hugging and cuddling, not real animals, and as Arrowsmith opened one eye, he had two sets of fuzzy nostrils poking at him. One muzzle was blue. The other was white. Both were snuffling him with breath that smelled like hay and apples.

“I was asleep,” he grumbled. 

“We know,” said Blue. “Sorry but we needed someone large to help and… well…”

“Once again I’m the biggest guy you can think of.”

“That would be it.”

Arrowsmith slowly sat up, pushing back the covers with one hand, shoving his long hair out of his face with the other. He was only 46 now; hardly over the hill. But his battle years ago with a certain triple-headed god that still bore him a great deal of animosity had left him stiff, and some days he was in so much pain it was almost more than he could do to get out of bed. Today was proving to be one of those days, and as Arrowsmith tried to stand, his legs slid out from under him and he sank to the floor. Blue immediately transformed from his natural shape of a Guedelph mare and into his forced shape as a small man with long white hair and eyes the colour of blue diamonds. 

“Arrowsmith are you all right?”

Arrowsmith felt as if he was being stabbed with flaming spikes, clutching his chest as he tried to breathe. “No, I’m reasonably certain that I’m in a huge amount of pain and I think I’d like to die, now.”

Arrowsmith ground his teeth so hard it was near-audible as the old wounds flared and burned. He gasped in pain, squeezing his eyes shut as he heard Blue run across the lavish rugs to the door of the bedroom and pull it open. Arrowsmith managed a smile as Ashadira poked him with her soft nose, reaching up to pet it.

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

She clearly didn’t believe him. Guedelph were not dumb, regardless of being blue and hairy with big feet. She knew Arrowsmith was in agony. Arrowsmith simply stayed where he was, in too much pain to lift himself back onto the bed, and half-hoping Ashadira would accidentally stab him and kill him. After a couple minutes Blue came running back in, followed by The Moonhound, who looked rather frazzled herself. Small wonder; she was up to her neck in invalids these days.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked.

“Hello to you too.”

She crouched beside Arrowsmith, shoving her greying red hair out of her face as she moved her gloved hands over the old scars along his ribcage; twenty year old puncture marks that lined up on either side of his body to form the imprint of colossal jaws. 

“I don’t see anything,” she said softly. “Just old scars.”

“It feels like I’m being crushed…”

He coughed up a clot of something or other fairly disgusting, and The Moonhound seemed to figure out what the problem was. She looked to Blue. 

“Go to my room and get my green velvet bag.”

Blue ran off to do as asked. Arrowsmith began trying to complain as well as cough, but The Moonhound was having none of it.

“We both know what the problem is so stop your noise.”

Arrowsmith coughed again, allowing her to help him up to the bed. Whatever favour Blue had wished to ask of him, it was not happening. Arrowsmith would be lucky if he wasn’t in bed for a week, but as it was, it seemed he would be laid up for at least two. Twenty years ago, SkullDigger, lord of death and insanity, had bitten through his ribs, shaken him like a rag doll, and threw him so hard that Arrowsmith had slammed into a stone wall and nearly died. The injury had never truly healed; bites inflicted by gods rarely did. There were days when it flared up and caused pain. And then there were days like today; when he not only felt the pain, but occasionally the old poisons embedded into his flesh would rise once more as well, settling into his lungs, causing something like pneumonia, only worse. If it wasn’t tended to immediately, he would die. There would be no saving him, and the death would be painful, slow, and suffocating as his lungs filled with pus. 

The ‘green bag’ that The Moonhound had called for was filled with tiny hollow lances, enchanted to draw out the pus without allowing anything to enter into the lungs as the toxins drained out. They were very effective and had saved his life a number of times. They also hurt like hell.

“Do you have to use the lances?” he managed to gasp.

She gave him one of those looks that said; ‘Do I actually have to answer that?’ Arrowsmith hung his head and coughed. 

“Fine. In that case can you please drug me off my ass so I don’t feel it?”

The Moonhound looked at Ashadira, who was swishing her tail, itching for a chance to be useful to the Queen of the realm.

“Ashy go get my blue bag, your mother will know where it is.”

Ashadira galloped off, tail whipping, mane flailing, the long hair on her lower legs flapping up and down, looking like an escaped mutant dust-bunny. The only thing more ridiculous than a guedelph was a galloping guedelph.

“Wonder what a herd of them looks like?” mused Arrowsmith.

“Like the vengeful trimmings of a thousand barbers seeking those who have cut them,” said The Moonhound. “Come on, lie down.”

“I don’t wanna. Where’s my husband?”

“Probably hiding where he can’t hear you whine. Do you want me to send someone to go find him?”

Oh yeah, just what Infamous needed; to find out Arrowsmith was once more coughing and in too much pain to stand. These attacks had been rare once upon a time. Lately however they seemed to be coming at the rate of one every other month. They were not always this bad, but the frequency was disturbing. No one had said as much, but Arrowsmith knew the truth. He knew he was dying. That was not really an issue; he’d died before. It wasn’t fun, but it was part of the magic that bound him to this land. However this time around there was a small twist to the plot; an infected bite of SkullDigger generally sent the one who died of it straight to the realm of the three headed god. In short, there was a very high chance that Arrowsmith would not be back after he died this time.

He had yet to tell Infamous.

“Where did you bury me the last time I died?” Arrowsmith managed to gasp as The Moonhound helped him to settle against the pillows.

“We didn’t,” she said. “We tied your remains to a tree, then threw rocks at it until we got bored and went away.”

“Hilarious. I’d like to be buried by the Mountain Cabin this time.”

“Duly noted,” she said. “But if you do not mind I would prefer to keep you alive a little longer, the Master Thief seems to have some sort of attachment to you. And loathe as I am to admit it, I’m pretty fond of you too. Why is this happening? Do you know?”

He coughed hard. “Why the hell would I know?! You’re the healer!”

“And you are the Seer. Talked to any ghosts lately?”

“No, I never thought to ask them. I sure can’t in this state. I can barely breathe…”

“Just hang on,” she said softly. “Just focus on breathing…”

Ashadira burst into the room in a cloud of flying hair, galloped up to The Moonhound and gave her both bags, the green and the blue. Mere seconds after the little blue-black unicorn came the Master Thief. Arrowsmith had no idea how Infamous had found out so quickly, but considering that the walls of the White Palace were riddled with passages used by the thieves of Marakim, it was possible that Infamous found out before The Moonhound did. Arrowsmith grinned as Infamous slid to a stop beside the bed, dropped to his knees and took hold of Arrowsmith’s hands. 

“Are you all right?”

“I will be,” Arrowsmith said. “The Moonhound is gonna shove big hollow tubes in me, but it’s cool, I plan on being so stoned I don’t feel it.”

Infamous leaned forward and kissed him. “This is the third time in five months you’ve been sick,” he said. 

Arrowsmith gazed at his lover. Arrowsmith may have been starting to show his age, but Infamous was still the same as when Arrowsmith had first seen him in this lifetime, save for the black fold of cloth tied over his face where his eyes had once been; eyes blacker than the voids of space. Despite the fact that his eyes were gone, Arrowsmith was sure Infamous could still see. According to Infamous he could, although how that worked Arrowsmith couldn’t begin to guess. But Infamous was the High Priest of a thieving god, as well as being the grandson of afore-mentioned god. That probably had a little to do with it.

“Let’s do dirty things to each other,” said Arrowsmith.

“Random, yet enticing,” said Infamous. “Why don’t we wait until we get the pus out of your lungs first?”

“All right, but if I’m dead I won’t enjoy it.”

Somehow, the blindfold that covered Infamous’ eyeless sockets managed to convey annoyance. “If you’re dead I’m not having sex with you.”

“Why not? One of us may as well have fun.”

The Moonhound held up a hypodermic needle made of gold and glass. “And on that note, ladies and gentlemen, it is time to drug the Seer of Hercandoloff. Nighty-night.”

The needle went in, and Arrowsmith felt himself fall into blessed darkness where the pain could not touch him. It would be hours before he awoke to more pain and sickness, but for now there was only rest. Before the velvet darkness took him entirely, he felt Infamous lie down beside him on the bed. Poor Infamous. This had to be so hard on him…

***

When Arrowsmith next awoke, it was late afternoon, almost evening. The room was dark save for a lone lamp turned low, flickering softly. 

Infamous was nowhere in sight.

Infamous was not coping well with Arrowsmith’s failing health, and Arrowsmith could not help but wonder how badly it would affect his lover if he never came back. Infamous had always liked to drink, but lately it had been less “likes to drink” and more “drinking to avoid thinking”. It was not a habit that was earning him the respect of the thieves he commanded, and more than once recently spells and prayers cast by the Master Thief had failed. It seemed his deity was not pleased with him either, and Arrowsmith wasn’t certain what to do about it. Then there was the matter of the Wizard-King of Dargoth, also dying slowly…

Arrowsmith slipped quietly out of bed. He left the room quietly and walked onto the large sweeping balcony to gaze at the clear fall evening. Before him lay Dharou’s Lake, calm and clear, reflecting the light of the setting sun, surrounded by the little houses of the mycinocroft clan that called the area home. The sun was low in the sky, and there was a profound stillness that spoke of the day-creatures going to bed to bed, and the night-creatures having not yet awakened. 

“Arrowsmith?”

Arrowsmith glanced over his shoulder to see Monshikka coming to stand beside him. 

“Hi.” He turned his attention once more to the lake. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Monshikka quietly. There was a long, comfortable silence that came from having known one another for centuries, and then Monshikka linked his arm through Arrowsmith’s.

“We’re not going to let you die,” said Monshikka.

“I don’t really see how there is a lot you can do about it,” said Arrowsmith. “I’m just worried about what it’s doing to Infamous. It’s ripping him up and I hate it.”

“Have you told him that?”

“I don’t know how. I mean what do I say? If I could spare the both of us this ordeal then I would. But I was bitten by the god of evil thieves and nightmares and insanity, and that is not a wound that heals. My only option here is to change my name to Frodo Baggins and sail off with a ship full of elves, but at six-foot-four I’m gonna have a hard time passing myself off as a hobbit.”

“There is another option,” said Monshikka. “I’ve been doing some research. It’s risky, but…”

“But?”

“Well there is an herb that is rumoured to have healing effects. A small flower with petals of ivory and blue, with little serrated leaves that smell of mint.”

“Uh-huh. What’s the catch?”

“It grows in the Troll’s Chasm.”

Arrowsmith flung his hands up and sighed loudly. “Great. The trip to get the herb to cure me could kill me. Wait, I’m sure this gets better. Where does it grow in the chasm?”

“The bottom.”

“Of fucking course.”

Monshikka laughed quietly, and Arrowsmith found himself grinning as well, even though there truly was nothing funny about the situation. The Troll’s Chasm was a gigantic rift in the ground to the south, located deep within the forsaken realm of Silverwood. It was the result of black dragons experimenting with foul spells, trying to raise a great demon to be their lord and master. The frightening thing was they had succeeded, and, after a war that lasted centuries, finally managed to force the horror back into the chasm Then the black dragons themselves split into two distinct sects. There were the black dragons that had clung to the evil ways, but they were few and far between. The remaining black dragons had settled on warm islands far to the south, and spent their days engaged in seeking and recording lore, spell-crafting herb-magiks, and… well… growing pot and smoking it. Hence the name “dragon weed.”

Welcome to Dargoth, land of the pot-smoking acid-spewing hippie dragon.

“Will it work?” asked Arrowsmith.

“According to the lore I have gathered, yes, it will,” said Monshikka. “It could even help Blackbird.”

“How is Blackbird?” asked Arrowsmith. “The Moonhound won’t let me in to see him because she can’t risk me giving him what I have.”

“He’s fragile,” said Monshikka. “Sickly. I don’t think he has more than a few months left in him, and that is being generous. The Court of Hercandoloff is fading fast this time.”

“But if we get this flower, we could save both Blackbird and me.”

“That does seem to be true from what my studies tell me. On the other hand…”

“We could end up killing ourselves for nothing.”

“It is a possibility,” said Monshikka. “So the question before us is, do we take a chance on a maybe?”

“I’d rather take a chance on a maybe than watch my husband drink himself into oblivion mourning me before I’m even in the grave. Speaking of which, if I die, I want you to do me a favour.”

“What’s that?”

“Bury me up by the Mountain Cabin. I like it there.”

Monshikka smiled. “I will do my best to make sure you are buried by the Mountain Cabin.”

“I wish I could be reborn on Dargoth. The way things are back on Earth… sometimes I worry that one day the liminals will be blocked off and I won’t be able to get here. I won’t be able to get home.”

“One crisis at a time, John Arrowsmith.” Monshikka sighed quietly. “I wish Wess were here. He’s taking so very long. He’d be an enormous help in collecting this flower.”

“Any word on where he went after he left the cabin?”

“None. I can only hope he’s not off on a quest for Bardic Roses.”

Arrowsmith slapped his hands over his face. “That would be all we need.” He lowered his hands and looked to Monshikka. “Has anyone at any point in time ever actually seen this alleged plant?”

“None I would not call a liar.”

“So why does Wess keep looking for it?”

“I have no idea. All I know is every other life or so he takes off for a few years to look for it. It must have some properties sacred to Shallougha. I know only he deems it important.”

Arrowsmith glanced at the man beside him. Young, and yet not young. The body was barely forty; hard, strong, beautiful. The eyes, however, were distant and thoughtful, and deep as the ocean. To see how old Monshikka truly was, all one had to do was look into his eyes. 

“So how were things going with the two of you?” asked Arrowsmith. “Before he left?”

“Odd,” said Monshikka. “Very, very, odd. I was twenty when I married him. Now I am forty-one with a nineteen-year-old husband who has absolutely no idea he’s my husband, who still calls me Your Highness while showing me how well he’s doing in school.”

“Creepy.”

“A little.”

Arrowsmith laughed quietly. 

“You’re such a toad,” grumbled Monshikka.

“You love me, admit it.” 

“I’ll admit no such thing. Arrowsmith! Unhand me!”

Monshikka steamed as Arrowsmith held him close and snuggled him. “Yes you dooooo….”

“Lies.”

Arrowsmith just held Monshikka, gazing across the lake, watching the final rays of sunlight fade. “So who will go with me to the chasm?” 

“I will,” said Monshikka. “No doubt Infamous will as well. I am less certain of The Moonhound. There is no way Blackbird can make the trip, and she will not wish to leave him. But with myself and Misty and Blue… I suspect we shall not fare so badly.”

“And The Moonhound might enjoy the peace,” said Arrowsmith, grinning. “All right. We’re heading out. When should we leave?”

The conversation was cut short when the bedroom door slammed open, and The Moonhound stormed in, her anger following behind like its own animal. She was carrying something over her shoulder, and slowly they realized it was Infamous. She stalked over to the bed and threw the Master Thief onto it, then looked to the walls and roared.

“THIS IS PERSONAL COURT BUSINESS AND IF ANY OF YOU WALL-WEASELS REPEAT ANY OF IT I WILL MAKE IT MY PERSONAL MISSION TO KILL YOU AND EAT YOUR LIVERS!”

Arrowsmith heard the quiet sound of boots fleeing the area. Once the thieves were gone, he walked into the bedroom and looked down at the mess on the sheets. 

“DOES THAT BELONG TO YOU?” The Moonhound demanded.

Arrowsmith felt Monshikka come to stand beside him, taking his arm. The two just stared. Infamous was not merely drunk; he was passed out unconscious. He’d been beaten to a bloody mess, and his diamond brooch, dagger, and blindfold were all missing. He’d been beaten, robbed, and degraded, most likely by a couple of SkullDigger’s faithful. He was bloody and filthy, and Arrowsmith was horrified to the point of immobility. In all of their lives, this was a first. The Moonhound was outraged, and as she addressed Arrowsmith, he could hear the break in her voice. 

“You tell that mess when he wakes up that if he wants to go on being an embarrassment to this Court, his god, his grandfather, and his temple then he can take himself to the mountain cabin. I realize we pride ourselves on not taking ourselves too seriously but this is unacceptable.”

Arrowsmith nodded. “I’ll talk to him,” he said quietly.

“Good. Because at this point I don’t trust myself to. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” His brown eyes were large, and he could feel his heart breaking. “I’m good.”

“Good. Because Misty’s birthday is coming up AND WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY, DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Arrowsmith nodded. The Moonhound turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Arrowsmith felt the tears start to run down his cheek, and he looked to Monshikka, feeling helpless.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s all right, Arrowsmith. I’ll help. Let’s just…clean him up for now. You get the bath ready, I’ll cut him out of those clothes.”

Arrowsmith went to start a bath for Infamous. He was shaking, and overwhelmed with emotions so tangled he had no idea what he was feeling. Then he heard Monshikka call to him.

“Forget the bath, we need a healer. I’ll go to the Temple of the Moon Goddess, I don’t think The Moonhound is in the mood to help.”

Monshikka left. Arrowsmith stood in the bathroom for a while in shock, trying to force himself to function. Finally he filled a basin with hot water, found a cloth, and returned to the bedroom to see Infamous flat out on the bed. 

What a mess.

Arrowsmith seated himself on the bed and began slowly cleaning away the blood and mud and…whatever else was covering him. By the time Monshikka returned with the healer, Arrowsmith had managed to get Infamous washed, exposing the cuts and bruises, some of which had clearly been done by some sort of claw-like weapon. Monshikka gently drew Arrowsmith away from the bed, and the woman set about working.

“He knows,” said Arrowsmith quietly. “He knows, he must, he has never done this before. This isn’t like him.”

“Who would have told him?” asked Monshikka. “Only you, I, and The Moonhound know there’s a chance you...”

“I have no idea but this is not like Infamous. Monshikka…I… I can’t deal with this.” 

“I’ll stay here with you tonight. You both need someone to look after you.”

“Thanks. I’m really not well.”

Arrowsmith and Monshikka sat together, watching the healer work on Infamous, sewing up cuts, bandaging bruises, and wrapping what was likely a cracked wrist. When she was done, she rose to her feet and turned to face Arrowsmith.

“Lord Seer?” She passed him a bottle of pills. “This is for the Master Thief, and this is for you. Queen Moonhound’s orders.”

Arrowsmith sighed and accepted the large brown pills for himself as well as the smaller greenish ones for Infamous.

“I hate these pills. I’m the only guy on Dargoth who has to take pills that look like moose poo.”

“You’re also the only man to survive a bite by SkullDigger,” she said. “Good night.”

She left. Monshikka patted him on the shoulder. “Eat your moose poo and get to bed.”

Arrowsmith took his pills, but was not quite ready for bed. Instead he and Monshikka had a late supper on the balcony, watching the lake, listening to the soft trill of nocturnal insects, enjoying the peace.

The hour was growing late, and they were considering going to bed, when from behind them could be heard a shuffling noise, and Arrowsmith felt someone press against him, seeking a snuggle. Arrowsmith smiled and stroked Infamous’ long reddish hair. 

“Good evening,” said Arrowsmith.

“Is not,” mumbled Infamous. “I’m sober and you’re sick.”

Okay, time for the super-not-fun spousal confrontation conversation. Oh, yay. 

“I’m sick but I’m looking for a solution. And you are gonna lay off the booze or I will move out. Clear?”

Infamous’ head shot up, staring sightlessly at Arrowsmith. “You’re joking.”

“I am not. Look, Infamous, I adore you. I love you. You are my life. But tonight you utterly disgraced yourself, your temple, your god…. LOOK at you! You not only got the shit kicked out of you, you got robbed.”

“What are you talking about? I admit I was in a fight, but…”

“Where’s your brooch? Where’s your dagger?” Arrowsmith leaned close to Infamous’ face and enunciated; “Where is your blindfold?”

Arrowsmith watched as comprehension slowly took hold, and Infamous began to shake. “Tell me that’s not true.”

“I’m sorry, it is, and you need to stay out of The Moonhound’s path for the next few days because she’s absolutely livid. Look, Infamous, the last thing I want to do is leave you. But I’m sick. I don’t want to be but I am. I’m scared, I’m in pain, and my heart is breaking because I’m going to leave you long before I want to. So why you choose to put me through hell by drinking yourself into oblivion every night and turning yourself into a fool before your own temple is fucking beyond me.”

Infamous pulled back, hurt and enraged. “How dare you?! Do you have any idea what it feels like watching you weaken day after day?”

“YES!” Arrowsmith shot back as Monshikka managed to slip into the bedroom to avoid watching the unfolding family drama. “It feels like what I go through watching you crawl into a bottle!”

Infamous made a strangled little noise, and Arrowsmith pulled him close, holding him tightly, stroking the long corded hair.

“Baby I love you. I love you so much. But this isn’t the way I want either of us to go out; me coughing up snot and blood and you drowning yourself, okay? Twenty years ago we defeated one of the darkest enemies we have ever known and I just… don’t want to waste what time we have together. I’ve decided to fight. That means you have to as well or there’s no point. Okay?”

Infamous nodded, his face buried against Arrowsmith’s chest. “Okay. Okay I promise I’ll behave. I’m sorry. I was just so…”

“Angry? Scared? Hurt?”

“All of those and more.” Infamous looked up at him. “I love you. I just can’t stand thinking I may lose you forever.”

Well that solved one conversation Arrowsmith didn’t want to have. “Who told?”

“Dusty.”

“DUSTY?? How did Dusty know? Y’know what? I’m gonna pull his arms off and beat him with them, you realize.”

They paused as they heard something flee rapidly within the wall. Then Arrowsmith lowered his head and kissed Infamous. “I love you. And Monshikka found a flower that could potentially help me and Blackbird. So – when do you want to go on a flower-hunt?”

“Well we can’t go today, it’s Misty’s birthday. And we have to find someone to look after the children.”

Ah yes, the children. That was one of the drawbacks of loving the high priest of a god who concerned himself with orphans and the impoverished. Sooner or later you ended up with kids, whether you were in a same-sex relationship or not. In less than one day Arrowsmith and Infamous had gone from a happy and childless gay couple to the proud parents of three little orphans. 

“Let The Moonhound look after them.”

“She has a sick wizard to look after and considers children a nuisance or an entrée.”

“I’m not certain she’s wrong.”

“Arrowsmith…”

“Look do you recall how we ended with the three little… darlings?”

“Arrowsmith, you have two choices. I can stop drinking and you can learn to love our babies, or I can keep drinking and go get five more.”

“I hate you, you know that.”

Infamous kissed him. “Get better so you can molest me.”

“Love to.” Arrowsmith held the smaller man close, and the pair looked out over the still waters of the lake. He was just about to suggest they get some sleep when he felt a little hand tug at his t-shirt. Slowly, like an annoyed dragon that has not quite decided if some small irritating animal needs to be eaten, he looked down at the child.

Niri was the eldest of the three children Infamous had brought home. He was almost seven, and he and Arrowsmith were not exactly each other’s biggest fans. Niri considered Arrowsmith a big fat meany-pants. Arrowsmith considered Niri a rotten little motorcycle-trashing rugrat. Niri had met Infamous not long after the child stole Harley. He met Arrowsmith after he managed to reduce Harley to exactly forty-two pieces of motorcycle scattered all over the courtyard. Infamous was doing his best to smooth family relations, but at the moment things were not exactly bright and rosy.

“There’s a monster under my bed,” said Niri.

“So why are you telling me?” asked Arrowsmith. 

“Because if it eats you, it’s no loss.”

Arrowsmith looked to Infamous. “Can I kill him?”

“Arrowsmith if you really want me to stop drinking then you need to quit getting into fights with a six-year-old.” Infamous sighed heavily, and held his hand out to Niri. “Come on, show me the monster.”

“Can’t we make Arrowsmith go look?”

“No, so stop asking. Besides, I’m the monster-killer in this family. Arrowsmith’s job is spider-killer.”

“Fastest boot in the realm,” said Arrowsmith. “So watch it.”

“Smelly fat meany-pants!”

Several retorts came to mind, none suitable for arguments with children. Arrowsmith kept his mouth shut and just went to bed. He felt better than he had earlier, Infamous agreed to cut back on the drinking, and today was Misty’s birthday party. They could wait one more day to go on a flower-hunt. He had no sooner slipped beneath the covers and settled down on the soft mattress, when something exploded into the room and took a flying leap onto the bed. It was wet, filthy, with matted fur and sticks poking out at random angles, tongue flopping out of its mouth. Within seconds, Arrowsmith was snotted, tongue-slapped, and walloped with a tail. It took a few moments to realize this was not some tame wolf from the Temple of the Mon Goddess, away from its keepers. This was Sly, returned from the dead and fully Recalled. Arrowsmith wasn’t sure where he had been in the twenty years since last he died, but at a guess it had been nowhere near a hairbrush.

“I missed you too,” said Arrowsmith. 

Sly expressed his mutual delight by sneezing violently into Arrowsmith’s face, then leaping off the bed and charging out of the bedroom. Moments later he heard The Moonhound scream. Arrowsmith sighed heavily. 

“I live in a nut house,” he said to the ceiling.

The bedroom door opened, and Misty peeked into the chamber.

“Are you awake?”

“No, I died forty-five minutes ago.”

“Oh. Well then you probably won’t want breakfast.”

Arrowsmith pushed back the covers. “I never said I was too dead for breakfast. Hey did you see Sly is back?”

Misty perked up. “Sly? He’s back?”

“Just showed up. Hey, stinky-pants!” Arrowsmith helped three-year-old Kari to climb onto the bed as the child yanked at the covers. “How did you get in here? Did you escape from Nursey?”

“YES!” 

Kari was the middle child of the trio they had adopted. The youngest was baby Maradith, who was around seven months old. So far Kari was Arrowsmith’s favourite. The little boy pounced on Arrowsmith, causing old injuries to burn and forcing him to cough. Misty drew closer, clearly worried, and watched the pair, his sapphire eyes filled with concern. Kari meanwhile was farting loudly and laughing like a loon.

“All right, smelly-butt, I think Uncle Misty is going to have to take you to the potty.”

Misty went from concerned to indignant. “Why me?”

Arrowsmith coughed up a spray of blood. Misty gathered up the little boy in black-gloved hands. 

“You did that on purpose, you can’t fool me.”

“You have more experience with this sort of thing than I do,” said Arrowsmith.

“Unicorn foals do not require potty-training,” said Misty. Kari let off a particularly vile fart. “Right. To the potty. I can’t believe I spent ten years studying at the Temple of Drakkaus to end up wiping tiny bottoms.”

“I’m sure Blackbird appreciates it,” said Arrowsmith.

“I HEARD THAT!” Blackbird shouted from across the hall.

“Hooray!” yelled Arrowsmith. “The king can hear!”

Blackbird tottered into Arrowsmith’s room as Misty took Kari out. Blackbird walked slowly over to the bed and seated himself on it carefully, mindful of the wet mud. 

“Aren’t we a pair,” said Blackbird.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” said Arrowsmith.

The ratty-looking little wizard blew a raspberry, clearly addled by some powerful medication. Arrowsmith laughed as he reached out to stroke the silvery-black hair. “Did Monshikka mention the flowers to you?”

“Earlier, yes.”

“Are we going to…?”

“Today we are going to do nothing. It’s Misty’s birthday, and we promised him a party. Tomorrow we will worry about saving our own necks. How are you feeling?”

“Scared,” said Arrowsmith. “I don’t want to die like this.”

“No,” said Blackbird softly. “Neither do I. So tonight we will celebrate Misty’s birthday, and tomorrow we will work out how we want to go about finding this flower.”

“HEY!” called a voice in the hall. “Anybody see a little short-assed mage, wearing a blue robe, likes to pretend he’s king?”

Sly tore into the room, crashing into things, shaking mud, dirt and water all over. The Moonhound peered into the room, her long red hair showing a great deal of grey, most of it a result of having to keep track of one very fragile little wizard. 

“I’m not here,” said Blackbird. “I’m somewhere else.”

“You two are not supposed to be in the same room together!” she shouted in precisely the sort of tone one would expect from a person who spent her life ordering troops around. “Arrowsmith, as much as we love him, might be contagious!”

Arrowsmith had no idea what sort of medications Blackbird was on, but they must have been good because Blackbird grabbed two handfuls of his hair and pulled his head down to kiss him full on the lips. His confusion only grew as Blackbird shoved his tongue down his throat before releasing him.

“There!” declared Blackbird. “Our bugs are now mutual bugs. That means I can stay and visit.”

The Moonhound walked over to the bed, gathering Blackbird into her arms and lifting him. “Lord High General of the Armies my ass,” she grumbled. “More like Keeper of the Brat.”

In the hallway, a nude, giggling, farting, three-year-old ran by, pursued by a daunting form in black and scarlet, with long flowing blonde hair.

“Kari get back here!”

“NO!”

“Didn’t we used to be cool?” asked Arrowsmith morosely. “I’m pretty sure that we used to be real bad-ass.”

“Nope,” said The Moonhound. “We’re the same damn bunch of idiots we were one thousand years ago.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are troubling times for the Court.

Arrowsmith did not actually make it to breakfast that morning; he ended up falling asleep instead. But he was awake and hungry at lunch time. His first order of business was to go locate his husband, finding him in his office in the temple. Infamous was drunk. Again. Arrowsmith didn’t like it, but at least he was only drunk, not falling-down hammered, as had been his usual state of late. Arrowsmith walked into the first-floor room where Infamous conducted temple business, and rolled his eyes as he saw Infamous’ youngest apprentice, an adorable red-head who, like Infamous, could also trace his bloodlines back to Marakim. His name was Hailo, and at thirteen he was completely and madly in love with Arrowsmith. The boy practically swooned as he saw his beloved walk into the room. 

“Hello Lord Seer,” he gushed.

“Hi, Hailo, nice to see you.” Arrowsmith walked over to Infamous, leaving across the desk to kiss him. “Hi beautiful.”

Infamous smiled. “Did we come in to see if I was curled up under the desk?”

Arrowsmith knew better than to try to lie. “Maybe a little. But mostly I came in to see if you wanted to go to the Black Cherry Inn tonight. We haven’t done that in a while. Misty wants to kick off his party there”

Infamous perked up slightly. “We could do that. Why does he want to start the party there, specifically?”

“Well a few weeks ago I was telling Misty about how some pubs where I come from have talent nights, and, so…”

“He decided he and Blue couldn’t live without one. Why not? Sounds like fun.”

Arrowsmith kissed him again. “I love you, you know.”

“I know, the question is why?”

Arrowsmith waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I can’t answer that with Hailo standing in the room.”

Hailo rolled his eyes. Infamous touched Arrowsmith’s face. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. But good. I haven’t coughed once today.”

“Good,” Infamous said softly. “So our little trip to the Chasm starts the day after tomorrow. Monshikka wants the day to make certain we are heading to the right place for the right herb.” Infamous handed Arrowsmith a piece of paper. “Now read this and tell me if it makes sense.”

Arrowsmith dutifully read the short missive. “This makes no damn sense.”

“So it’s not a case of me being drunk.”

“No. What am I looking at?”

“Allegedly a new by-law regarding water quality by the mycinocroft, but I can’t figure out what the gnomes have to do with it.”

“Why did it come to you? How are gnomes temple business?”

“Gnomebody knows,” said Infamous dryly.

The door opened and Dusty walked in.

“Are you sober my Lord?”

“No,” said Infamous, his tone abruptly changing to one of anger. “Get in here anyway.”

Dusty did. Infamous gently pushed Arrowsmith aside and stood up. Dusty looked uncertain, but approached the desk, facing the Master Thief and High Priest.

“Dusty I am not going to make excuses for my behavior, other than to say until you have had to watch someone you love more than any other die in slow pain from an injury he received saving the ungrateful asses of the same people that are now treating me like a joke then you cannot possibly know what either of us is going through. And if you blow in here one more time and ask if I am sober then you and any little wall rats who are currently listening will find yourselves guarding the ruins of Silverwood until further notice. And I don’t know how you found out about what is happening with my husband but if you start leaking information then there are going to be ramifications. Do you hear me?”

Dusty swallowed. “Yes Lord.”

Infamous walked around the desk, clearly a little wobbly, but not off his feet. Not by a long shot. He faced Dusty with blind eyes, staring at him.

“You are one of my chosen. If you cannot be worthy of that position, I can replace you. And will. If I had known all it would take to have my own temple brethren to turn on me was to succumb to grief then I would have gone to Palaklais and called down spells to cleanse the halls of traitors and those without compassion. It is our duty to care. That includes each other. Now mind your place or I will find one more appreciative of it.”

Dusty seemed to shrink, which was quite a feat considering he was not terribly large anyway. 

“Yes Lord.”

“Now did you come in here just to insult me, or have you temple business as well?”

Dusty looked as if he would like to hide. “The reflecting pond beneath the base of Marakim has cracked and there’s at least a foot of water covering the temple floor. The masons need permission to come into the prayer chambers to fix it.”

Infamous sighed. “Come along, then, we’ll lead them down and oversee the process. Arrowsmith I’ll meet you at the dining hall in a few minutes for lunch.”

“All right, see you then.”

“Oh, and if you could show Hailo where we keep the study books for the children…?”

Then Infamous was gone. Arrowsmith stared at Hailo, who positively dripped pink hearts and adoration. 

“Fine,” said Arrowsmith.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Arrowsmith and Infamous arrived at the dining hall roughly a half hour later, noticing all were assembled save for the Ice Prince.

“Where’s Monshikka?” asked Arrowsmith. The Moonhound sat back and looked at him. 

“Well look at you, all vertical and such. I thought you’d be asleep for a few days.”

Infamous slunk over to his seat, saying nothing. Arrowsmith pulled out a chair beside him.

“I thought so too,” he said, carefully seating himself. “But I’m not feeling too badly.”

“Good.” Her green eyes next moved to Infamous. Arrowsmith could tell concern was warring with anger, but eventually concern won. “How is our Master Thief feeling?”

“Stupid,” whispered Infamous, smiling faintly as Arrowsmith kissed his head.

The Moonhound left aside chastising him. Likely she understood he was doing enough of that himself. “Any idea who robbed you?”

“No,” he said softly. “But it was not any of SkullDigger’s followers. I’d be a skin on a wall if it had been them. My guess would be common cut-purses. I will get them for this.”

“Do you want help?” asked Misty.

“Not unless it turns out I was robbed by a dragon.”

“If it’s a dragon you’re on your own.”

The doors opened, and in strode Monshikka, seating himself at the table in a flutter of pale blue silk. Looking terribly pleased with himself, he announced “I found Wess.”

He had the immediate attention of all gathered. “Where is he?” asked Blackbird.

“In Two-Fifty-Mile-House, where else? He’s taking classes at the university.”

“So glad he’s not out hunting those stupid roses,” said Arrowsmith. “So where did you run into him?”

Monshikka began looking over what was laid out on the table, trying to decide what he wanted to eat. “He was in the Golden Unicorn.”

“What was he doing there?” asked Misty. “That doesn’t sound like his sort of place.”

“Oh,” said Monshikka, and the slight change in tone of his voice told all who knew him that he didn’t particularly want to say. “He’s…employed there.”

He now had the focus of all gathered at the table. Infamous leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, grinning. “Isn’t the Golden Unicorn that really expensive place that caters to nobility and wealthy merchants? Specifically the coffee merchants that come out of the Palaklais?”

“Yes I believe it is,” said Monshikka. They could see he was beginning to sweat. His friends began moving in for the kill. Misty was grinning like a fiend.

“They make that really amazing coffee with all sorts of flavours, and they pride themselves on both the quality and…artistry, I believe? They make those gorgeous patterns in the foam on top…?”

“They do.”

“So what’s our dear darling Wess doing at the Golden Unicorn?” asked The Moonhound.

Monshikka didn’t answer. Arrowsmith suddenly roared with laughter.

“Wess is serving coffee at the Golden Unicorn!”

“Arrowsmith…”

“The Well Guardian of Hercandoloff is a fucking barista!”

“Arrowsmith!”

“I’M GONNA DIE!”

“You realize what this means,” said Misty. “It is now our obligation to go down and make his life miserable.”

“I really don’t see why we have to…”

“Because it’s our duty, when one of us comes back and is found in some sort of service-related job,” said Blackbird, “to go forth and drive them crazy. Who’s with me?”

“Can we not…?”

Arrowsmith rose to his feet and threw up the horns. “RRROOOAAAD TRRRIIIP!”

Monshikka sighed heavily as his friends all scattered like leaves in a storm, running to collect travel crystals and meeting up in the main reception hall. 

“I am opposed to this!” declared Monshikka.

“Noted,” said Misty.

“And disregarded,” said The Moonhound.

Seconds later, the entire Court was pouring into the Golden Unicorn.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Wess?” said a voice.

“Yes?” he responded, concentrating on the complex design he was making in the froth on a cup of coffee.

“Is that the Court of Hercandoloff? Or am I mad?”

Wess paused in his art and glanced up. He gazed at the group of eight people grinning back at him from the largest table in the room. As if to dispel any confusion regarding their identity, they were lined up beneath an enormous painting of the Court, in the order they appeared.

“Yes,” he said warily. 

“Why are they smiling at you?” asked Lilithana, his co-worker.

Wess stared a few moments longer. “I don’t know…”

He watched as Prince Monshikka Starlit rose from the table and approached him, smiling. “So this is where you went. We’ve been looking for you.”

Wess looked puzzled. “I left a note, did you not get it?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Possibly a bit of wind moved it. But we’re glad to have found you again.”

He smiled. “Can I get you anything?”

“Actually I came to give you something.” Monshikka passed him a white envelope. On the front was Wess’ name in gold. “It’s the Court Assassin’s birthday today. He’s having a party this evening. Of course it would not be any fun without a complete Court.”

Wess glanced to the painting on the wall, gazing at his namesake. “I’m not him.”

“But you are our friend,” said Monshikka. “Please come.”

Wess returned his gaze to the man before him, and smiled. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

“HEY BLACKIE!” called Arrowsmith, “tell him I want a double double soy latte with extra foam, three shots of caramel, and sprinkles.”

“Please ignore him,” said Monshikka. “He’s an idiot.”

Wess chuckled quietly. “So is there anything I can get you?”

“Yes. Coffee and a loaf of the honey cake to share around. And if you don’t mind, be sure to drip some extract from a dragonfire pepper into the big loud one’s cup.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Arrowsmith walked along the streets of White Palace, heading for the Black Cherry Inn alone. It was early evening, and the lamplighters were scurrying about; a group of five noisy children, shouting to each other, laughing, carrying a short ladder with them to climb up the lamps to light them. Dargoth had not quite managed to do away with the necessity of child labor, but at least it had made things much safer than what the children on Earth had to bear. And what the children could do was limited as well – no wee ones dying of blacklung in the mine, no tiny rag-pickers gasping in the dust. It wasn’t perfect, but it was far from the nightmare existence that Charles Dickens had observed so long ago. 

“Evening, Lord Seer!” called a little girl, holding the ladder while her sister carefully opened the glass door on the lamp.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Everybody knows you. Are you still sick?”

Wow. He must be big news. Even the lamplighters knew. 

“Yeah, afraid so,” he said.

“You should have some soup! It helps me! Mommy makes it with kitty-wort!”

Kitty-wort. Oh yeah. It would cure what ailed you, and if nothing ailed you, it would cure that too. Nasty greenish-brown swamp weed. He’d been forced to eat it once or twice himself. It worked – but the taste could kill your will to live.

He kept on his way to the Black Cherry Inn. Centuries ago, Blue and Misty had owned a tavern called the Black Cherry Inn when they lived in Twin Lakes. After Blue left, Misty sold it, but now that the pair were together once more they had opened a new version of it, and the little pub was turning out to be quite the success. And the achievement had little to do with it belonging to one of the Court. Misty and Blue made an effort to make the place fun, with entertainment and drinks that could be found nowhere else. Blue did most of the running, since he rarely had actual Court business, and Arrowsmith had a funny feeling Blue was happier here with the musicians and misfits than he was with the diplomats and sycophants. Frankly Arrowsmith was, too. Blue caught sight of him seconds after he entered the tavern, and pointed to the stage. Arrowsmith waved an acknowledgement over the heads of the sea of humans, elves, dwarfs, guedelph, and other sundry dream-creatures, including what he was pretty damned sure was a half-ogre. Yeeks. 

“You need a bigger bar,” said Arrowsmith, as he saw Misty materialize out of the crowd in a flutter of black cloth and gold hair.

“Why?” he asked. “It would just fill up. Play.”

Arrowsmith was handed a guitar, and seated himself on a stool on the small stage. He liked being here. It was nice to just play and sing and drink, and pretend the darkness that was eating at their lives was far, far away. And it was fun to come here and be something other than the Court of Hercandoloff. And speaking of their great and mighty king…

Blackbird popped out of the crowd and picked up a small stringed instrument similar to an autoharp, but with far deeper tones. 

“Moonhound is going to be having fits,” said Arrowsmith.

Blackbird pointed into the crowd, and Arrowsmith followed his finger to a table where The Moonhound was sitting. He smiled and waved at her. She stared back in a manner that implied she was giving serious thought to busting their heads open. 

Arrowsmith grinned and just began playing, and at the first few strains of the old Moody Blues song, the pub erupted in enthusiasm. ‘Send Me No Wine’ may have become a distant memory on Earth, but here it was becoming one of the most popular pub songs in White Palace. And according to popular opinion, Misty, Arrowsmith and Blackbird did the best version of it anywhere. Once the song was over, they looked to the crowd for requests. A number of tunes were shouted, but then the half-ogre, who clearly had been drinking, and who also knew what songs to expect from the trio on stage, stood up, and bellowed at the top of his ogre-lungs; “ARE YOU SITTING COMFORTABLY!”

The pub fell silent. Arrowsmith was sure he had felt his hair blow in the wind caused by the mighty creature’s voice.

“All righty, then,” he said “Are You Sitting Comfortably it is.”

“Not a song one tends to associate with ogres,” said Misty. 

“AND DO THE POEM AT THE END THIS TIME!”

“Right,” said Blackbird. 

The trio snickered and snorted as they gathered their composure. Misty pulled a flute out of his sleeve, and they began to play. It was a radical change of pace from the previous song, but no one was of a mind to disagree with a creature quite so large. 

They played a few more songs, then left the stage to the other performers, going to the table where The Moonhound sat. 

“I’m not talking to any of you,” she said.

“Not even me?” said Misty.

She looked pissed. “I’ve been busting my ass trying to keep two of you alive and the first chance you get, you come here. What am I trying for?”

“It’s not that we’re unappreciative,” said Arrowsmith. 

“It’s just that lying in bed watching time trickle on tends to….” Blackbird’s words slowed to a halt.

“Be depressing,” finished Arrowsmith. “It’s not that we don’t care you’re trying to help us. We do.”

“But there are times I just cannot spend one more second lying in a bed,” said Blackbird.

The Moonhound nodded, her green eyes glittering. Blackbird leaned close to her, trying to comfort her. Arrowsmith just took a drink of his beer. Cripes if The Moonhound was breaking under the strain, then what was it doing to Infamous? No wonder he was drinking himself stupid. 

“I’m just tired of watching you die young,” she said to Blackbird. “I would like to change the pattern.”

“Monshikka is doing a little additional research to make sure we get the right plant,” said Misty. “We don’t want to go there and come back with nothing useful. And we’re kinda hoping Wess will get off his ass and Recall, this is his area of expertise, we could really use him.”

“Dumb question time,” said Arrowsmith. “Why can’t we help each other Recall?”

“Because we tried it in the second lifetime with Wess and Infamous and they both went insane,” said Blackbird. “It has to happen naturally. Trying to force someone to Recall has really bad side effects. It was years before either of them were mentally stable, and Wess never really recovered.”

“I seem to remember that,” said Misty. “He was shaky and distracted to the end of his days. He never seemed to understand who or where he was.”

“Better not nudge him, then,” said Arrowsmith. He sighed. “Well we have to go, whether he Recalls or not.”

Misty nodded. “Agreed. And speaking of Wess…”

Wess came to sit down with the four, looking very annoyed. “I’m sorry I ever mentioned to anyone I knew the Court. No one believes me!”

The Moonhound reached out to move aside a bit of long hair from his face. “Aw, poor button. Tell your imaginary friends what happened.”

“Well as you know, after coffee, Monshikka accompanied me to class. Initially he only meant to accompany me to the door, but since it was regarding the history of Palaklais he couldn’t resist and joined me.”

“He didn’t mention that part,” said Arrowsmith. 

“I’m not surprised,” said Wess, motioning to a server for a mug of ale. “He had the professor so intimidated I thought the poor woman was going to quit. Then she asked him the significance of the carvings in the Halls of the King…”

“Which ones?” asked Misty.

“These strange scribbly things that look like the old pictographs the dwarfs used ages ago. There’s a whole story. It starts with three figures running with what looks like dead animals, and a really tall figure with a big L on his forehead who seems quite drunk, and a man with a spear chasing two figures brandishing a purple thread…?”

“Did Monshikka tell her?” asked Blackbird.

“He said Ilenya Skywolf carved it, and called it the Ballad of the Purple Thread. I don’t think he really wanted to tell us because for a virgin prince of Kirianna to have his royal garb tainted by an impure color is not a good thing, but I guess since he’s no longer a virgin it was okay. Anyway he was… amazing. The things he knew, and the way he spoke…. I almost felt as if I had been there. It was like if I just closed my eyes…”

The four friends exchanged significant glances. It would not be long now ere Wess recalled. The youth shook his head, bringing himself back to reality.

“Anyway he was… amazing. He knew so much. But of course if it is true that the Court is reborn time and again then he would, wouldn’t he? He’d be the First Keeper, Aldesing.” Wess sighed and took a drink of his beer. “I guess my girlfriend did not approve of just how I was looking at him and broke up with me.”

“Ouch,” said The Moonhound.

“I admit to having an infatuation with Prince Monshikka,” said Wess, “but just because I have some similarities to his husband does not mean he would take me up on any offers I had to make.”

“If he didn’t, he’s out of his mind,” said Arrowsmith, raising his mug. 

Wess smiled. “He’s beautiful. But he’s a prince and the Keeper of the Forbidden Library, and I make art in foam on coffee. So any childish little fantasies I have in my head had best just stay there. I think I’ll have some mycinocroft liqueur to wash them away.”

“I’ll join you,” said Arrowsmith.

“Good, we’ll make it a contest,” said Wess.

“Arrowsmith will win,” said Blackbird. “He drinks wine made of the battlefield rose.”

“So do I,” said Wess. 

“I’ll join,” said Misty.

“Misty will win,” said The Moonhound. “My money is on Misty.”

“Agreed,” said Blackbird. 

Wess gave them a questioning look. Arrowsmith grinned, and pointed to Misty. “Court Assassin. Has built up an immunity to most poisons.”

What the mycinocroft put in their liqueur was a question for the ages, and they did not tell. It was clear, with a refractive property that made it shine like crystal. It smelled of flowers and herbs, which was strange because the only known ingredient in it was fish bones. But the bones of which fish, or how they were prepared, was also a mystery. All that was really known about it was most humans, elves, and half-elves could only drink a small amount. So when Arrowsmith ordered a whole bottle, they immediately had the attention of most of the bar. The bottle appeared, along with glasses. Blackbird nudged his glass away; he was not about to try so much as a sip. The Moonhound sighed. 

“Yeah I’ll try some.”

“And I get to carry everyone home,” said Blackbird. “Jolly!”

Arrowsmith poured the first round, and Blackbird watched as those he was seated with drank. They waited a few moments to see who remained upright.

“Next round,” said Arrowsmith.

Wess’ head suddenly fell back, and he slithered under the table with the boneless ease of a dead snake. 

“One down,” amended Arrowsmith.

“Aw I was hoping he’d last longer than that,” said Misty.

“I can hear my hair growing,” said a small voice from under the table.

“Wess are you okay down there?” asked Arrowsmith.

“Hello, boot,” said Wess.

“He’s fine,” said Misty.

They poured another round and downed it, again waiting to see who fell. Arrowsmith grinned as he felt a pair of arms slip around him from behind, holding him. 

“Hi handsome,” said Arrowsmith.

“What are you drinking?” asked Infamous.

“Mycinocroft brew,” said Arrowsmith. “Want a glass?”

Infamous shook his head. “Maybe later. You seem to be in the middle of a game.”

“Yeah Wess already lost,” said The Moonhound. “Okay – round three.”

“How many shots did he have?” asked Infamous.

“One,” said Arrowsmith. 

“One?” said Infamous. “We’re going to have that posted in the campus newsletter…”

“Nooooooo….” said a plaintive little voice from under the table.

They downed their drinks. The Moonhound rocked visibly, blinking.

“I’m out,” she said, staring owlishly into the distance. “Another and I’ll be under the table with Wess.”

“Hello, spider,” said Wess. 

“Round four,” said Arrowsmith. He grinned as he felt Infamous nibble his ear. “You’re being awfully cute tonight.”

“Kicked a few backsides in the temple,” said Infamous. “And just to prove I am the rightful Master Thief, did a Room Shift spell for the masons.”

“Room Shift? Isn’t that where you basically move the entire contents of one chamber to another?”

“Well the masons could only bring in a few bricks at a time. I thought the work would go faster if their materials were where they could reach them.” Infamous reached over Arrowsmith’s shoulder and took a glass of the clear liqueur for himself. “I think we need another bottle.”

Another bottle was brought. Arrowsmith was moving in a careful and slow way that told anyone who saw him that he was drunk off his ass. 

“Is Infamous joining us?” asked Misty. “He’s only had one shot, we’ve had three.”

Infamous filled Arrowsmith’s glass, then his Misty’s, and drank them both, one after another. He winced and shook his head, while the crowd gaped, and those at the table stared.

“Did I honestly just see you do a double shot of mycinocroft brew?!” demanded Arrowsmith boozily.

“Of course not, you’re drunk,” said Infamous. “Blackbird you pour, I can’t find my hand.”

Blackbird poured the shots. “Alcohol poisoning. It’s a thing. You should look it up.”

“After we drink these,” said Misty.

The trio downed their shots, then looked at each other. The room was blurrier, but they were still upright.

“Any minute now,” said Arrowsmith, as Blackbird set up the next shot, “in through that tavern door is gonna walk a thief, a paladin, a wizard, and a half-orc.”

“Why and what’s a half-orc?” said Blackbird.

“Like a half-ogre but shorter,” said Arrowsmith. “And as for why, that’s because that is how every epic adventure starts. A thief, a paladin, a wizard, and a half-orc walk into a bar.”

“Sounds like a bad joke,” said The Moonhound.

“I always wanted to go on an adventure,” said Arrowsmith. “No one ever lets me go.”

“That’s because we’ve seen your sword-fighting abilities!” said the Moonhound.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” said Infamous, “I think he’s pretty damned good with a sword myself, especially on his back.”

“Is that because he can only fuck up?” inquired Misty politely.

“It’s just frustrating!” said Arrowsmith. “Every lifetime I land in this amazing world of elves and unicorns and fairies and… and I never get to go on an adventure.”

“What do you call nearly getting bit in half by SkullDigger?” demanded The Moonhound.

“I call it something I don’t particularly care to remember,” said Arrowsmith. 

They downed their shots. The world became grey and foggy.

“I think what you mean is you’ve never gone on a quest,” said Infamous.

“Yeah, a quest. Let’s do one of those. What will we go questing for?”

“A healer?” said The Moonhound, eyeing them warily.

“I know,” said Misty. “Let’s go look for that thing we were looking for in the first life.”

“We found it!” said Arrowsmith indignantly. “That’s why we’re sitting in a pub with elves and unicorns and a half-ogre!”

“Oh you want a hard quest,” said Misty.

They downed their next shot. Then things went dark for a while.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was something special about this time of day, and about this feeling. That point in the very early morning when everyone was too tired to keep the party going, but no one wanted it to end. Right now the only sound was that of the birds waking up outside, and Arrowsmith playing a little Mississippi John Hurt on the guitar. The sun would be coming up soon, and Arrowsmith knew he should be getting some sleep, but lately he didn’t find sleep as attractive as it used to be. So he was just going to stay where he was a little longer in his place on the pillows by the fire. Besides, he had Infamous asleep beside him, and it was bad luck to wake a thief of Marakim. Or was that a cat? Either way was good. 

Something shifted in a pile of velvet drapes that had somehow ended up on the floor, and Misty rose up looking like a hungover version of the Grim Reaper.

“What did we do last night?” he asked.

“Hell I don’t know, and I was here for most of it,” said Arrowsmith.

“Where’s Blackbird?”

“In here somewhere,” said Arrowsmith. 

Misty began sorting through the draperies and pillows and other sundry items on the floor as he searched for his friend. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better, but not dying yet.”

Misty held up a lady’s green velvet gown and stared at it, then set it on a chair.

“Somebody’s cold,” remarked Arrowsmith. “Morning, Blue.”

A small hairy blue form rolled to its four feet and stood, legs trembling. It then abruptly shape-shifted into a small man with long white hair, who fled to the nearest window to vomit. There came the distant scream of horror as one of the guards below failed to dodge. Misty kept sorting.

“Misty,” said Arrowsmith, “just give it a rest. It would take all of us to get this mess sorted.”

“It is my duty as Court Assassin to protect the king,” he said, holding up a lady’s stocking. “Okay what was going on here while I was drunk?”

“I dunno but at a guess I’d say there was public nudity involved.”

Misty set the stocking on the same chair as the dress, then went to see how Blue was doing, just as a tiny form climbed out of the heap of pillows Arrowsmith was sitting on. Blackbird emerged like a small bug and collapsed, rolling slowly onto his back.

“Best party ever,” he declared.

Arrowsmith’s fingers kept moving over the strings of the guitar. “Blackbird… what have we told you about hiding in things that people could potentially sit on? If you had died it would be the first ‘Death by Butt’ in Dargothian history.”

“No I’m sure there must be others. Now when are we going for this herb? Wess could help us find it. Wish he’d get off his ass and Recall.”

A body sat up at the far side of the room. “Recall what?” asked Wess.

“When you remember we’ll tell you,” said Arrowsmith. “Tell us more about this herb.”

“It’s a little flower and it’s supposed to be able to cure a number of ills, but that could just be folk tales. Anything beautiful that grows in a place as desolate as the Chasm is bound to garner mystery.”

“Well I’m going,” said Arrowsmith. “I don’t have a lot to lose. And everything is quiet right now. It’s the best time to do it.”

“We should send a scout first,” said Blackbird. “I’d hate to walk all that way and find out there are none left.”

“You’re not going,” said Arrowsmith.

“Meanie.” Blackbird struggled to his feet, then changed his mind and sat back down. “Well we should at least wait until after breakfast to have this conversation.”

Arrowsmith grinned as his friend Silver struggled his way out of a pile of velvet. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Jim Beam,” said Arrowsmith.

Silver scrambled out of the room like a scared cat, seeking a place to throw up, watched by the bleary life forms still in the reception hall.

“What was that about?” asked Blackbird.

“Silver and I once got drunk off our asses on Jim Beam,” said Arrowsmith. “Silver never recovered. So every now and then I like to remind him of it.”

“You’re evil.”

Blackbird settled beside Arrowsmith and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep. Arrowsmith kept playing his guitar, sighing as a specter approached him to sit beside him.

“It’s useless you know,” said the ghost. “You will walk all that way to the Chasm and find nothing…”

“Well you better hope I find something because if I die the first thing I’m gonna do is hunt you down and ass-rape you with a broken piece of rusted rebar.” 

The ghost vanished. Infamous raised his head and looked up at his lover.

“Well that was random,” he said.

“Just a ghost,” said Arrowsmith. “I’m going to the Chasm and I’m going today.”

“Arrowsmith…”

“I can take Harley, I can be there in no time.”

“You can’t take Harley, he’s in pieces.”

“Then I’ll take Nemesis. She’s fast.”

“She can’t handle the road,” said Infamous. “She’s too light, her frame would shake apart. Look… Blackbird is right. We need a scout. We need to send someone on ahead to look. And that’s thief-work. My brother Sjaan has a dragonhawk, I can borrow it and be there and back in no time.” He slowly stood up, shaking and grey. “May as well do something to redeem myself.”

“The last time I let you out of my sight you hooked up with another elf and forgot me.”

Infamous leaned down and kissed him. “But I remembered, didn’t I?”

Arrowsmith returned the kiss, touching their noses together. “Are you sure you can handle this? You’d be alone. And…this whole Sight of Marakim thing still makes me nervous.”

“I’ve explained it to you a dozen times over the years.”

Arrowsmith reached up to touch the blindfold of black silk covering the hollows where his lover once had eyes. “I guess I just don’t understand how eyes can still see when you no longer have them.”

“The way you can talk to ghosts when no one else can. Look… it will be okay, Arrowsmith. I’ll be there and back again before you know it, with the herbs.”

Arrowsmith shook his head. “I hate this. I really hate this. I’m sick, we have three small children…”

“But you’re not alone,” said Infamous. “Arrowsmith… please… stay home. Let me do this. You’re right, it’s time I stopped drinking and feeling sorry for myself and did something to help. I can be there and back in no time. Let me do this for you.”

Arrowsmith slowly shook his head, but knew he had no choice. He and Blackbird were both dying. If this herb could help…

“Okay,” said Arrowsmith. “But I don’t like it. Take someone with you. Take Sly.”

“Arrowsmith I am a big boy.”

“Humor me. Please.”

Arrowsmith could tell Infamous thought bringing Sly along would just slow him down, but finally Infamous relented.

“I will humor you and take Sly along with me. But you stay in bed and rest.”

Arrowsmith nodded. “I’ll stay in bed and rest.”

Misty, who was once more digging through the room for the owner of the green gown, pulled aside a tapestry. 

“I found, quite literally, a naked lady,” he stated.

“Who is it?” asked The Moonhound.

“Lady Wintermist of Stone Realm. She’s snoring and she has her undies on her head.”

“Well let her sleep it off,” said The Moonhound. 

“No but you don’t understand,” said Misty. “The green gown is not hers, she was wearing blue.”

“Infamous as soon as you are ready to travel, let me know,” said The Moonhound. “Monshikka, he will need accurate renditions of that herb…”

“Not before breakfast, why are you shouting?” Monshikka asked, holding his head and wincing.

The Moonhound rolled her eyes. “By the Creator, how the Court of Hercandoloff ever came to be is beyond me.”

Wess slowly stood up, looking like a wobbly foal. “I have to get to work,” he said. 

Arrowsmith yawned. “Well I’m having a bath, who’s with me?”

“Me,” said Blackbird.

The Moonhound sighed loudly. “Fine. Catch each other’s diseases, see if I care. But I’m coming too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for the flower of the Chasm has gone very much awry.

After his bath, Arrowsmith staggered to his bed, collapsing onto it and closing his eyes. He hadn’t realized it was still so early, and he felt sleep was more important than food. He was nearly asleep when he felt a strange weight on his back. Slowly he turned his head to the side, trying very hard not to enrage the massive headache that was lurking in his brain. He found himself staring into one brown eye.

“You said last night that we could have candy for breakfast,” whispered Kari.

Arrowsmith did not find that hard to believe in the least. After six shots of mycinocroft brew he could have promised the kid anything.

“Okay,” he whispered in return. “Where’s Papa Infamous?”

Kari pointed. Arrowsmith looked in the direction the child indicated and saw his husband curled up in a ball in the fireplace. Likely the Master Thief had crawled there after Arrowsmith left the reception hall. Arrowsmith grinned, then turned his attention back to the little boy. 

“Now why are you here?”

“There was a monster under my bed an’ I was scared. An’ it was a big monster this time.”

“What did the monster look like?”

What Kari did next froze Arrowsmith’s blood in an instant. The little boy sat up and looked around, as if checking to see if they were being listened to. Then he turned his attention back to Arrowsmith, brown eyes large and solemn.

“It looked like the monster that ate daddy.”

Arrowsmith tried to remember what Infamous had said about the death of Kari’s parents, but apart from the mother dying in childbirth he didn’t recall anything. 

“Can you draw a picture of the monster?”

Kari nodded, and Arrowsmith carefully reached for a notepad and charcoal pencil, passing them to the child. At age three, Kari was hardly Rembrandt, but he clearly knew what he had seen. As Arrowsmith watched, Kari drew his bed, and then what looked to be three heads poking out from underneath. 

“Is it there every night?” asked Arrowsmith.

“No,” said Kari. “Sometimes it’s different. And sometimes it won’t let me see it. Once it asked me to come under the bed an’ play wif it.”

Yeah that was not happening. “Okay, Kari, you stay here, and Papa is going to talk to someone about making the monster go away.”

“Can I still have candy for breakfast? You promised.”

Arrowsmith kissed him on the head, then handed him a small box of chocolates from a shop Arrowsmith frequented on Earth. Kari’s whole face lit up with glee. 

“The whole box for me?!”

“For you,” said Arrowsmith. “And what do we say to Papa Infamous when he sees you eating candy for breakfast?”

Kari was already happily chewing. “ _You_ wanted kids!” he parroted.

“Good boy.”

Arrowsmith left the bedroom, encountering Monshikka in the hallway. The Ice Prince looked as if he had just engaged in a little early-morning debauchery, and the fact that he was sneaking out of the guest room Wess had been granted only confirmed that. Arrowsmith raised an eyebrow. 

“Well he is my husband,” said Monshikka. “Just because he doesn’t remember that… And what are you doing up? I thought you decided that you needed some sleep.”

“And I thought Wess was helping you back to your room.”

“We’re both a little drunk. I couldn’t find my room.”

“Uh huh. Anyway Kari woke me up. He claimed there was a monster under his bed.”

Monshikka adjusted his robe. “Well he is only three.”

Arrowsmith showed him the drawing. “A monster with three heads and seven eyes?”

Monshikka took the drawing and studied it. “How would it have come in? We have enchantments all over!”

“It’s not the first time we’ve had evil things creep into the palace,” said Arrowsmith. “And with Blackbird and I both sick…”

The door behind Monshikka opened, and Wess appeared, shaggy and tousled, wearing only his breeches. 

“You left,” he said softly to Monshikka.

“Court business,” said Monshikka, his voice equally quiet. “Care to assist?”

They kissed. Arrowsmith tapped Wess on the shoulder.

“When you go back to work, take me with you. I wanna see the look on your ex-girlfriend’s face when you tell her you’re now officially Monshikka’s consort.”

Wess was holding Monshikka close. Arrowsmith couldn’t think of one reason why they had taken so long to get together.

“Well if you would like to see that,” he said, “I have to leave in an hour. I have a morning class.”

Arrowsmith watched them kiss once more, and had a funny feeling the next hour was going to be spent engaged in something not quite relating to Kari’s monster.

“Care to see my library?” asked Monshikka. 

Yup. Not monster-related. 

“I have to go throw up now, I hope you don’t mind,” said Arrowsmith.

Wess and Monshikka left, hastily. In fact, Monshikka actually made Wess chase him, laughing. After so many centuries locked into propriety, and adherence to duty and faith, it was good to see him act like a kid in love. Of course, in the eyes of Kirianna, Wess and Monshikka were not married, and Monshikka was certainly not married to the current incarnation. But after losing love so soon after finding it, perhaps Monshikka had decided the tea ceremony on the roof was good enough after all. 

Arrowsmith returned to the bedroom, and found Kari jumping on the bed and squealing. Infamous was standing in the middle of the room, just staring at the child as if wondering if his darling baby son was possessed.

“You let him have candy for breakfast, didn’t you?” said Infamous. 

Arrowsmith drew Infamous close and kissed him. “Still love me?”

“Not until you go to The Moonhound and get me something to make my head stop pounding. And I have to talk to Monshikka about that flower, we can’t wait any longer, I want to leave today.”

“Well you will have to wait, he and Wess are in the library attempting to reproduce themselves.”

“What’s reproduce?” asked Kari, still bouncing.

“Remember when you put the brown bunny in Lady Seraph’s garden to visit all the grey bunnies because the brown bunny was lonely? And five bunnies became twenty-eight bunnies?” asked Arrowsmith.

“Oh yeah! Can I have a bunny?”

“We’ll ask Lady Seraph after breakfast. C’mon, stinky, Papa Arrowsmith will give you a bath while Papa Infamous finds a way to keep his head from falling off.”

***---***

It was two days later, and after a number of irritating delays, they were nearly ready to leave for the chasm. Plans had been made, routes checked, and mounts acquired for all, save one. Infamous Keeper stalked into the grand dining hall where the Court of Hercandoloff were currently having supper. He marched up to his husband, and thrust a letter beneath his nose.

“Can you believe this?” he asked.

Arrowsmith, who had been anticipating shellfish in butter with fried mushrooms and not parchment, closed his mouth and lowered his fork. He took the letter from his irate husband and opened it. 

“Well it seems perfectly reasonable to me,” said Arrowsmith. “It says Sjaan can’t meet you later because he will be busy.”

Infamous sat down beside Arrowsmith and began helping himself to some of the roast pheasant. “It says he can’t meet me because he is breeding his female dragonhawk,” he snapped. “The one he is supposed to be loaning me!”

The Moonhound raised her head. “Sjaan’s breeding Spooky? Who to?”

“Lady Rain’s dragonhawk, Southern Lord.”

Misty winced. “Great. Spooky has the personality of a rabid weasel and Lord has all the brains of a mollusk.”

“He has beautiful lines, though,” said Monshikka. “He’s a gorgeous animal. They’re both uncommonly lovely. The offspring will be stunning. Assuming they do not inherit their parents’ charming personalities.” He looked at Wess, who had his nose in his book, pipe in one hand, his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, his glasses halfway down his nose. Monshikka smiled at him affectionately. “Right, dear?”

“Hmm?”

Arrowsmith leaned forward to peer at the title of the book Wess held. “‘Geological formations of the South Palaklais.’ Yeesh.”

“It’s fascinating,” mumbled Wess.

“Yeah I bet,” said Arrowsmith, rolling his eyes.

“The point is, if I may gather your wandering attention,” said Infamous, “If he does not want to loan me his dragonhawk he should be able to come up with a better excuse than ‘I am breeding her’. That’s right up there with ‘I have to wash my hair’. He could at least make an effort to be believable, I mean how long can it take to breed two animals?”

“Well, actually,” said Monshikka, helping himself to some more mushrooms, “Dragonhawks can take a surprisingly long time to mate.”

“Really?” said Blackbird, looking interested. “Usually animals try to be quick about it, so not to be caught in a compromising position.”

“With most animals that is very true,” said Monshikka. “But dragonhawks are the apex of all apex predators. They can afford to take their time, and they usually do because it’s not an easy thing for them to accomplish. For one thing the male has to sweet talk the female into lying on her back because he wants her wing-blades as far away from him as possible. They are not immune to their own considerable weaponry. And even with the wing-blades away from his head he still has to deal with her claws, tail-blades, and head-crest.”

“Sounds like a dicey undertaking for both of them,” said Arrowsmith.

“Well there is no such thing as rape with dragonhawks, I can assure you,” said Monshikka. “One jab with that head-crest and he’s done for, she can stab straight through every bone and major organ he has. And then once he has the lady’s consent it’s still an ordeal because once they start they really can’t stop.”

Wess set down his cold pipe to pick up a fork and stab a piece of fish, shoving it into his mouth, paying no heed to the topic of conversation. Chewing his fish, he continued to read his book. 

“What do you mean they can’t stop?” asked Misty.

Monshikka reached for the teapot to fill his cup, his long, elegant white hands like an extension of the graceful porcelain item. 

“Well, once he has penetrated her, these large fleshy nodules emerge on his penis and sort of lock him into place, as it were. Their chief function is to stimulate her into ovulation, but in order to do that he has to perform for rather a long time. Three hours is usual but they can go for up to nine. And ejaculation with these beasts is no joke either, he can take up to forty-five minutes to complete an orgasm and lose over two liters of fluid doing it. Then once they finally finish and separate, someone has to be on hand to make certain the female doesn’t decide the male looks like a nice post-coital snack. It’s rare but it does happen. So I’m not surprised Sjaan can’t make it for dinner. Depending on when Spooky decides to accept her suitor’s advances, Sjaan could be out there until midnight, and I doubt very much Lady Rain would be amused to have her prized steed reduced to canapés.” 

Monshikka sipped his tea. Wess continued to read. The other members of the Court began to exchange puzzled glances, and a question seemed to hang silently in the air. Then Misty cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table, an enormous and uncontrollable grin on his face.

“So… Monshikka…”

“Yes?”

“Is this… extensive and rather intimate understanding of the mechanics of dragonhawk mating in any way related to those really big claw marks on the desk in the second level of the Forbidden Library, and the missing area rug that used to rest on the floor right before it?”

Monshikka’s teacup dropped to the table, shattering, splashing golden fluid everywhere. His crystal pink eyes grew huge, and, if it was at all possible, his albino skin became more pale than was customary even for him. Beside him, Wess turned a page, eyes fixed on his book. The room was silent. Infamous leaned forward, grinning like a shark.

“Wess?”

“Hmm? Oh, the rug and the desk? Yes that was us. Sorry.”

Monshikka went from white to crimson. After a moment, Wess’ preoccupied brain seemed to grasp that something had happened, and he raised his head, looking around. He blinked, brown eyes large behind his glasses, and he suddenly realized what had occurred.

“Oh, bugger, I’m sleeping on the floor tonight, aren’t I?” 

“Yes,” said Monshikka from behind his hands.

Blue toyed with his napkin, clearly uncomfortable. Finally he folded it and tossed it onto the table.

“Well! Now that we all know far more about Wess and Monshikka’s private life than we ever wanted to…”

The Moonhound remained propped with her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand as she grinned wickedly at her diminutive husband.

“So can you turn into a dragonhawk?”

Blackbird picked up a glass of wine and sipped it. “Not yet I can’t, but give me a week.”

“That is not a mental image that I needed in my condition,” said Arrowsmith.

“Okay,” said Infamous, “who here has slept with another member of the Court?”

Monshikka looked up. “Oh Infamous, really, even from you that’s…”

“Doesn’t count if it’s pre… oh.” Infamous glanced down the table at Wess.

“Pre-Recall?” said Wess. “Yes I had a lovely fat epiphany the other night while we were all getting drunk. I don’t recommend it.”

“I thought you were just high,” said Arrowsmith.

“I was,” said Wess, “that’s why it was so hard to figure out what was happening.”

“Well I’ve had pre-Recall sex,” said Blackbird. “But I was so drunk I don’t remember what I did.”

“With who?” asked The Moonhound, clearly surprised. “I’m the only woman in the group!”

Blackbird cleared his throat. “Apparently I got curious as well as drunk.”

“Oh now you have to tell us,” said Infamous.

Blackbird cleared his throat again, then looked down the table to Arrowsmith, who just grinned. There was a long, stunned silence, then Blue asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“HOW?!”

“I don’t remember and he won’t tell me!” said Blackbird, indignant. “But it must have been good because I broke my wrist.”

Infamous’ forehead abruptly hit the dining table. 

“What?” asked Blackbird. 

“Nothing,” said Infamous and Arrowsmith.

“No one tells me anything,” grumbled Blackbird.

“Well since there is clearly no way to escape this conversation,” said Monshikka, “I’m pleased to say the number stands at exactly one.”

“Same here,” said Blue. “One.”

“Misty,” said The Moonhound.

“Oh color me shocked,” said Blackbird. “So who has been with Sly?”

Those gathered at the dining table looked to their companion, who was face down in his plate, snarling at his meat.

“Moving right along,” said Infamous, “how about our darling Wess over there? I know I’ve succumbed to his charms.”

“Same,” said Arrowsmith. “Fourth life. And sixth.”

“Third,” said Misty.

“I didn’t think you played with boys,” said The Moonhound.

“As a rule I don’t. But he had this copy of ‘Love Secrets of the Evening Wilds’, and…”

“Yeah that book is lethal in his hands,” said The Moonhound. “So…”

Those gathered at the table began looking around. Wess just kept his eyes focused on his book, smiling, his glasses slipping down his nose. Monshikka sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“You tart.”

Wess turned a page on his book. “Pre-Recall sex does not count, we all agreed years ago.”

“Now I’m regretting giving him that complete collection of Shakespeare for his birthday,” said Arrowsmith. 

“Yes,” said Monshikka. “Clearly the man cannot be trusted with a book of poetry if you even got Misty into your bed!”

Wess looked to Monshikka, smiling. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“Only if you don’t tell me my eyes are nothing like the sun. I read too you know. So have you honestly bedded everyone in this room, you trollop?”

“Yes.” 

Lord Sylvannamyth managed to rip his leg of lamb in half, sending a spear of bone cartwheeling out the window.

“With one exception.”

“How about post-Recall?” asked Infamous. 

“And exactly who are you planning on having sex with?” asked Arrowsmith. “Pre-Recall is fine. Post gets a little more dicey.”

“I think it depends on the time period,” said The Moonhound. She looked to Blackbird, smiling. “Fifth life?”

“Ah. Yes I did leave rather early in that one, didn’t I?”

“I make a motion that it doesn’t count Post-Recall if your partner is dead,” said Arrowsmith.

“And who were you hooking up with after my death?” asked Infamous.

“Who else? Wess. Our resident good-will ambassador and spreader of carnal joy.”

“I vote we add that onto his official title of Well-Guardian,” said Misty.

“All in favor?” asked The Moonhound.

“AYE!” called six voices. 

“Opposed?” asked Blackbird.

“I am but I don’t suppose it will do any bloody good!” said Monshikka.

“Motion carried,” said The Moonhound. “Wess is officially the Court Toy-Boy.”

“I shall do my best to keep up morale in times of crisis,” said Wess. He looked to Monshikka, smiling. “Provided it’s pre-Recall.”

“I am neither impressed, nor amused, but I’ve only myself to blame.”

Wess leaned forward to nuzzle him softly. “No one could ever touch you, my love. And I was in love with you ere I ever Recalled in this life.”

Monshikka gave him an arch look. “Oh indeed?”

“The mind may be weak and prone to failure, but never does the heart forget.”

“See that’s how he got me,” said Misty.

“He’s good,” agreed The Moonhound.

“Trollop,” said Monshikka fondly. “There will be no more of that.”

“None. I swear.”

The door pushed open slowly, with some difficulty, and little Kari appeared, wearing his nightshirt and holding a book. The children were not supposed to be in the dining room at supper time; breakfast and lunch was family time, with friends and children appearing. Supper, traditionally, was when matters of the kingdom were discussed, and even if there was nothing happening, the rule still held. But at age three, Kari was a little unclear on the rules, and the Court so far saw no reason to enforce them on the little boy. The child held the book above his head.

“Is story-time Papa!”

“Percy the Pony Goes to Town,” said Arrowsmith with a grimace. “Again. Yay.”

Monshikka looked down at the little boy. “Kari wouldn’t you like a new book?”

“No I like this one!”

“Maybe we can find one you like just as much,” said Arrowsmith. “I think Uncle Monshikka has some cute ones on the first floor of his library.”

He stood up, and the moment he did, he realized he was in trouble. His vision darkened, and stars filled his eyes as a strange rushing noise filled his ears. His body began to shake violently, and Wess scooped up Kari and took him out of the room. Arrowsmith became aware of people standing around him, gentle hands trying to lower him to the floor. He felt himself begin to fall just before he passed out.

***---***

Arrowsmith woke up hours later, somewhat incoherent. He looked around, and saw that everyone was seated either on the bed, or near the bed. Even Sly was there, weird grey eyes focused on Arrowsmith.

“What happened?” he asked weakly.

“You died,” said Wess softly. “We managed to get you breathing again, but it was not easy. No more delays, it is time to go looking for this herb. I’m going to the south-eastern part of the Chasm with Monshikka, and Infamous and Sly are going to the North-Western end. Misty is going down to the deep pit and Blackbird, The Moonhound and Blue are staying here with you.”

“But what if it’s just a myth?” asked Arrowsmith, his voice quiet and hoarse.

“Then at least we will have tried.”

“We set out in the morning,” said Infamous. “Regardless of what irritating matter comes up.”

“And no falling in love with strange elves,” said Arrowsmith.

Infamous shook his head. “Never. Never again. And if you die before I get back…”

Arrowsmith drew him close and kissed him. “Just don’t be long.”

“Back as soon as I can. And you better be here.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Arrowsmith slipped into blissful unconsciousness once more, surrounded by friends.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Arrowsmith opened his eyes. The room was dark, and he sensed it was late in the evening. He was very ill, and weak. Beside him lay Infamous, pressed close, his arm draped across Arrowsmith’s waist. There was a fire lit in the hearth, and beside it, seated in one of the gilded and embroidered chairs, was Libby, Arrowsmith’s mother. She was knitting quietly, Infamous’ grey wolf, Simon, at her feet. Arrowsmith managed a weak smile.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘hi Mom’ me, buster. Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?”

“Didn’t want to worry you.”

She sighed. “Johnny, I missed out on everything in your life, I want to be here now. I never got to see you crawl, or lose a tooth, or your first day at school, or any of your milestones. I never even got to have the uncomfortable ‘Mom I’m gay’ conversation, so humour me for wanting to be by your side now.”

Arrowsmith thought about that for a while. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gay.” 

“It’s no use buttering me up now.”

His smile became a grin. “I wish I could have done those things with you too. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Are you going to get better?” she asked.

“Hope so,” he said. “That’s why Infamous is going to go look for the herb.”

“I wish you would let me take you back to Earth, to a proper hospital.”

“Mom if I go to a hospital on Earth and tell them I was bitten by the god of insanity they’ll put me in the looney bin.”

“I just don’t want to lose you.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to be lost. My chances are better here.” 

Infamous stirred in his sleep. Libby glanced at him, but said nothing, and Arrowsmith chose not to confront her. His mother had set ideas on what a ‘proper’ gay couple should look like. One was supposed to be handsome, capable, and “masculine”. His lover was supposed to be a pretty little featherbrain, and “feminine”. The fact that Infamous in no way met that criteria vexed her. 

“A little make-up wouldn’t kill him,” she said.

“No it wouldn’t,” said Arrowsmith. “But it’s not his thing and I’m not going to try to make him wear it.”

“What if you asked nicely?”

Arrowsmith turned his head to look at the man asleep beside him. “Infamous my mom would like you to wear more make-up.”

“You first,” mumbled Infamous.

Arrowsmith kissed his nose. “Why are you awake?”

Infamous raised his head, listening. Right on cue, Maradith began to squeak; a prelude to a death-wail. Infamous started to get up, but Libby set aside her knitting and got to her feet.

“You stay in bed, I’ll get her.”

Infamous sank back down into the bed, cuddling close to Arrowsmith. “How are you?” he asked softly.

Arrowsmith didn’t have the strength to pretend anymore. “I’m dying.”

“We’re leaving in the morning. Please try to hang on.”

“Doing my best. It’s the pain more than anything. I get so exhausted…”

“The pills are not helping anymore?”

“Not really, no. All it does is give me crazy nightmares and hallucinations. I still hurt.”

“I’ll talk to Wess and Misty. Maybe they can come up with something. The Moonhound too, she must know something about pain control.”

“Thanks.” Arrowsmith gazed at his lover, reaching one hand up to touch his face. “I’m sorry about Mom.”

“What is this obsession she has about putting make-up on me?”

“She just has very out-dated ideas about what two men are supposed to look like.”

“I’m fine the way I am.”

“You are. Think we have time to have sex before she comes back?”

“Arrowsmith, not that I mind, but why are you so obsessed these days with getting on top of me? Again – not that I mind.”

Arrowsmith kissed him. “Because if I die, it will be at least twenty years before I get to come back and do it again.”

Assuming he made it back.

They snuggled together, holding each other close, Arrowsmith pressing his lips to Infamous’ brow.

“Arrowsmith?” said Infamous quietly.

“Yeah?”

“About this… post-Recall sex.”

“Yeah?”

“Would it bother you?”

“Well I’d be dead, so probably not. I mean I assume you’ve had sex with someone after I was dead before.”

“Yeah I did. I guess I just don’t like admitting it. I love you. I’ve never really ever loved anyone other than you. And I know it’s easy to say we will be together forever, but it’s all broken up with these black slices of death and I hate it.”

“We need the death to keep the life. Nothing can naturally live forever, not even planets.”

“I know,” said Infamous. “I just want to keep you a little longer. Because this time…”

“I know.”

Arrowsmith watched as Kari clambered onto the bed, clutching his toy wolf. Half asleep, the little boy managed to just get onto the bed before falling face-first into the blankets, his butt elevated on Arrowsmith’s legs. The proud parents observed their darling baby boy.

“You know why children exist?” said Arrowsmith. “So we can get all these mental snapshots of what we look like when drunk.”

***---***

Infamous perched on Spooky’s back as the female dragonhawk carried him to the north-western tip of the troll’s Chasm. He didn’t want to go. He really did not wish to go there. Even to save Arrowsmith, he hated the chasm. It was like a hidden freakish world of monstrous creatures, slithering, creaking, croaking, staring…. 

He shuddered, then looked over his shoulder at Lord Sly. The half-mycinocroft was sitting on the secondary seat of the hard leather saddle, eyes squinted in obvious pleasure, tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

“You have absolutely no dignity, and you don’t care, do you?”

Infamous watched as the most formidable weapon in the White Palace arsenal got hit in the face with a bug and ate it.

“And that’s why no one wants to have sex with you.”

Sly did not seem to care. He genuinely seemed to be enjoying flying high and feeling the wind. Infamous however suddenly had an idea, and gently turned Spooky toward the southernmost tip of the Palaklais Mountains. Funny how a trip that would have taken days by horse was a matter of hours with a winged steed. Spooky glanced over her shoulder at Infamous, as if questioning his decision. 

“We’re going to try something, and if it doesn’t work, we’re going to come back to the chasm.”

He felt Sly nip his shoulder. 

“I just want to try one thing,” said Infamous. “I’d really rather not go to the chasm if we don’t have to.”

Sly went from nipping to biting. Infamous flinched and pulled away.

“Stop it! I just want to look!”

Sly huffed. Infamous ground his teeth. “If it was your husband dying then I’m willing to bet you’d be trying some pretty dumb shit too.”

Sly may not have been able to speak, but he was quite capable of expressing his concern nonetheless. And he knew that the Southern Palaklais was no place for Infamous. It was full of Black Elves who would be quite happy to work their own sort of magic to bring Infamous back to their shadowed world. 

“If you sense any Black Elves then let me know, okay?” said Infamous. “Believe me the last thing I want to do is get kidnapped again. It takes too long to escape the magic and Arrowsmith needs me.”

Sly seemed happier now. Good. That was one small issue overcome. Sly went back to enjoying the wind, as Infamous guided Spooky to the formidable grey peaks of the Southern Palaklais. He caught sight of a brilliant white and gold dragonhawk, and waved. Infamous grinned as Monshikka and Wess banked to come meet them, pulling up alongside Infamous and Spooky.

“You’re off-course,” said Monshikka, dressed in a riding outfit of ice blue and silver. 

“I had a thought,” said Infamous. “Do you remember something called the Tent of the Amber Wind?”

“We’ve both studied it, Wess and myself. Infamous that is very random and dangerous magic; it’s magic from the Dream-Time, I don’t think we want to play with it.”

“No, we don’t,” said Infamous. “But I’m a creature of the Dream-Time myself. I might be able to get an answer out of it. And if we’re going to save Arrowsmith and Blackbird then we need answers. I for one would like to find out if this flower is what we need and if it’s where we think it is. Since we can’t ask Arrowsmith maybe we can ask the tent.”

They flew toward the mountains in silence, save for the faint ringing from the wings of the dragonhawks. The Tent of the Amber Wind was possibly the single least-understood natural creation of Dargoth. It appeared randomly, but as a rule stayed in the south, partially buried in snow. Those who found it said that it appeared as the skull of a massive dragon, draped in old canvas, with an entrance between the fangs of the skull. There was nothing within save two rotting logs, running parallel to each other, with a stone between them on which sat a great candle. Once lit, the candle would release a soft, fragrant mist, coloured a strange golden colour, and people who had come with questions would ask them. Sometimes they got answers. Sometimes they got riddles.

Sometimes they were never seen again.

“There it is!” said Monshikka. “Right down there, in the snow! Look!”

“That can’t be good,” said Infamous.

“Why not?” asked Wess. “It was your idea to find it.”

“An incredibly rare and mysterious tent that contains a prophetic candle, and we find it within an hour of deciding to go look for it?” said Infamous. “That can’t be good.”

They landed on the ledge upon which the tent rested. Monshikka slipped down from Wess’ back, and walked over to the tent, examining it carefully as Infamous dismounted his own animal. The tent was just as it had been described by travellers in the past. A great and very old skull; that of some gigantic dragon, rested on the icy stone ledge. Moss had stained portions of it green, and someone, many, many years ago, had fashioned a sort of canvas skirt to cover the lower half, as well as drape the eyes, so that the beast seemed blindfolded and gagged in death. Infamous walked over to the tent and knelt down, peering inside. 

“Looks just the way it was described,” said Infamous, the ends of the black silk scarf over his eyes fluttering in the wind. 

Monshikka shivered, looking around and tugging his fur wrap closer about himself. “I don’t like this place. It’s so silent. The Palaklais always frighten me.”

A gigantic grey wolf ran by, zooming back and forth over the snow, tail whipping, stirring up flurries of white snow and biting at them. Infamous smiled.

“Lord Sly does not share your feelings.” 

Monshikka gathered up a handful of snow and formed a ball, then tossed it for Sly. The enormous creature leapt for it, tumbling in the air to catch his prize. 

“He always did say he felt better up here,” said Wess, still in his dragonhawk form. “Poor Sly. We should build him a house in the mountains.”

He was distracted by Spooky creeping up to him, cautiously exploring this creature that looked like her, yet didn’t. Wess backed up, not wishing to be either sniffed in an invasive and undignified manner, or bitten. Spooky looked miffed and walked away. 

“We should set up camp,” said Infamous. 

“Whatever for?” asked Monshikka. “It’s still rather early in the day.”

“Because I have a question for this tent, and I have to word it carefully,” said Infamous. “Asking questions of magical artifacts requires thought and precision. This could take a while.”

As Infamous pondered how best to ask his question, and Sly chased the snow, Monshikka removed the tack from Wess, who was only too happy to shift back into his more usual shape. Spooky promptly scampered a brief distance away to turn and stare accusingly at Wess. Infamous could almost hear what she was thinking.

“You’re not a dragonhawk!”

Wess stretched and yawned, then smiled as Monshikka drew near for a kiss. 

“How would you like to desecrate an artifact?” asked Wess.

“Let’s wait until Infamous asks his question,” said Monshikka.

“Careful, children,” Infamous teased as he wrote in the snow with a stylus, trying to think how best to phrase his question. “That’s how babies get made.”

“We actually were thinking of adopting,” said Wess.

“Don’t tell Arrowsmith that,” said Infamous. “He’s ready to sacrifice Niri to SkullDigger.” 

“The child is rather hard on him,” said Monshikka.

“I’m not sure what to do about it,” said Infamous. “I understand Niri is angry. His parents are dead, he’s been taken from the only home he knew, his baby sister was nearly given away to another couple… it’s hard for a little boy but it’s not Arrowsmith’s fault.”

“He did smash Harley to pieces,” said Wess.

“Arrowsmith wanted to mend the situation by showing Niri how to put Harley back together,” said Infamous. “Niri responded by trying to fill Harley’s tank with sand.”

“From what I gather,” said Monshikka, “Harley does not care for sand.”

“No he does not,” said Infamous. “I don’t know what to do with the boy. I’ve been tempted to spank his little backside red a few times myself but that’s hardly the blight on my reputation I want, and after all the fool things I’ve been doing since Arrowsmith got sick I’ve blighted it myself quite enough. I just want to make him well, get my temple in order, and find out why Niri is being such a little…. Imp. I’m just glad Arrowsmith and Kari seem to have bonded.”

Wess and Monshikka set up camp, while Infamous scratched in the dirt and snow, trying to think how best to word his question. Magical devices required precise wording, and he did not want to mess anything up. He was so busy focussing that he did not realize the sun was close to going down until Monshikka touched his shoulder. 

“Infamous, you should eat.”

Infamous shook his head. “Later. I have to get my question asked. We’ll never find the tent again, and if we wait too long it might vanish.”

Infamous slipped into the tent, smiling as Sly wriggled in after him, alert and curious. He watched with great interest as Infamous carefully lit the candle, and as a soft golden mist filled the air. Infamous breathed deeply, becoming aware of a third being in the tent with them. Shrouded in the golden clouds, Infamous could not see him, but he heard the man’s voice in his head.

“What is your question, Child of the Dawn Thief?”

“Does a plant, be it wild herb, or weed, or shrub, water plant, sea greenery, cultivated plant, or tree of forest or garden, exist that will cure illnesses of the lungs, and heal the wounds caused by the god of nightmares?”

“It does.”

“Can you take me to this plant?”

The man laughed, and it was not a nice laugh. “Of course, I shall do so now!”

There was a violent gust of wind, and Infamous felt himself thrown what seemed to be several feet through the air, landing hard on the ground. He rolled to his feet and stood up abruptly, looking around. For a time, all was deep eternal black, and he felt fear clutch at him. 

“Wess? Monshikka? I don’t know what happened but I can’t see!”

Something pressed against him, and Infamous embraced the familiar form, knowing it was Sly.

“I can’t see!” he said in a panic. “Nothing at all, the Sight of Marakim has failed me…”

Sly nibbled and fussed, clearly worried, but as Infamous stood, embracing him, slowly he began to see once more. The images were grey and shadowy, faint, but he could see a little. That was better than utter blackness. 

“Grandfather can you see me?” he asked, quivering in fear.

“No,” answered a very soft voice in his mind. “You are so far away from me. Never have you been so far. Ilenya be very careful, until I find you, the graces I have given you will be weak, and apt to fail.”

“Where am I?”

“I do not know.”

“Am I on Dargoth?” he asked, his fear heightening.

“No.”

“Well where am I?! Grandfather…”

“I am searching, child. Calm yourself. I will find you. I shall have a word with that bastard in the tent if it ends me!”

Infamous shivered, feeling small and afraid in a manner he had not for many long years, indeed even centuries. He looked to Sly. 

“We need shelter…”

Sly shifted into his wolf form and bounded off, following his nose in quest of shelter. He was not gone long, and when he returned, he took Infamous’ hand in his mouth and led him to what looked to be the stump of a gigantic tree. Closer inspection revealed it to be a cottage, carefully crafted from the stump. It had not been used in a very long time, but it was safe and solid. No sooner had they crept into it and pushed the door shut than they heard hoof beats. Infamous clutched Sly to his chest, shaking.

“I saw the light here, my lord! A great flash that lit up the sky! Look! See the marks in the flowers?”

“Aye, something fell here all right. See how the tracks lead off this way. We’ll catch them!”

Infamous heard the hoof beats approach, and closed his eyes, trying to focus any magic he still had, trying to turn to shadow….

The door slammed open, and Sly lunged, roaring. The men screamed and fled as a wolf the size of a pony charged out of the old cottage. Infamous cursed and ran after him.

“Sly!”

At the sound of his name, Sly turned back to Infamous, pausing just long enough for Infamous to get onto his back. Then they were off, tearing across the fields of flowers, over streams and hedges until the woods became less cultivated and more wild. They did not stop until Sly was clearly exhausted. However the moment Infamous slid from his back, they heard hounds baying in the distance. 

“Persistent, aren’t they?” said Infamous. “Why are they after us? We didn’t do anything to them!”

Sly stood, watching, as the pack of hounds and the mounted hunters drew closer. The hounds were enormous beasts, with shaggy coats, huge paws with large claws, and jaws full of double rows of protruding teeth. They looked demonic, and the beasts were approaching with terrifying speed. 

Sly lowered his head, and narrowed his eyes.

The hounds slowed, then stopped. They began milling around, whimpering, then began screaming as if being burned alive, turning on each other, and the horses that charged into their midst by accident. One animal was dragged down and torn apart, its rider along with it. The other horses proceeded to go mad, throwing their riders and attacking them, and the hounds. Infamous put a hand on Sly’s shoulder. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

They crept away, hearing the chaos fall silent in the background as men and beasts regained their senses. As Sly and Infamous crept into the darkness, they could hear the men shouting to each other about what could have caused the dogs to go mad. 

Eventually, Sly and Infamous found what appeared to be an animal den, dug under a tree. They crept in, cold, hungry and filthy. It had been a very long time since Infamous Keeper had found himself in such circumstances. He curled up against Sly’s warm, furry body, and fell asleep.

***---***

Daylight brought no hope. They were cold, dirty, hungry, and Infamous had minimal sight at best, which meant Marakim had not found him. Then a thought came to Infamous – if Marakim could not find him, then how far away was he? And how far from Arrowsmith? 

“I’ve failed,” he whispered. “I failed him. I asked the tent a question and this is my answer. It sent me to a whole field of the right herb, but so far away I can never hope to get it to him in time. I failed him.”

Infamous began to weep, feeling his heart break with a physical pain that made his breath catch and his hand go to his chest, wincing in agony. He sank down to the damp earth floor of the animal den, sobbing. The pain only intensified when he realized he could well be trapped there until he died, and for a half-elf such as himself that could be another century. Arrowsmith would die, and be dust, never to be seen on Dargoth again, trapped in SkullDigger’s nightmare world.

He felt Sly nose him, but was in so much agony that all he could do was reach a hand out to take hold of the inordinately soft fur. Sly poked him once more, then abruptly slipped out of the den. Distracted from his grief by fear, Infamous sat up, and listened hard. He heard a small girl speak.

“You’re a big doggie! You’re the biggest doggie I ever saw! Are you a nice doggie? I hope you are.”

Infamous peered out of the den, his vision little more than grey and white shadows. He saw a very small child in a simple little dress, holding a basket of wild fruits, and a second basket of fish. She pet Sly carefully at first, then when she realized he meant no harm, she hugged him, tangling her fingers into the luxuriant fur. Moments later Infamous heard the horrified gasp of the child’s mother.

“Inye, come away from the wolf, child.”

“But he’s a good wolf, Mother! A very good wolf! He’s magic! Come feel his fur!”

Infamous could only imagine what the woman was thinking, watching her baby girl hug a wild animal the size of a small horse. Fortunately Sly wasn’t a wild animal – just a slightly odd one. Carefully the woman approached, then reached out to touch him.

“Oh he is soft, isn’t he?” 

“Softer than bunnies!” said Inye.

The woman drew a comb out of her apron and tried a few careful strokes. Infamous slapped his hand over his face as the powerful secret weapon of the Court wriggled around like any happy doggie at the prospect of a brushing. Mother and child fussed and petted him, combing out great globs of shed fur – mycinocroft fur. The finest, softest fur known; a fur so soft and fine that people had been known to fall under its spell and lose their minds to possess it. Slowly, it occurred to Infamous that he might know what Sly was up to. 

The woman and her daughter gathered up the pile of combed fur, talking excitedly about mixing it with the fine wool from their best sheep, and how much money it would bring in; money for needed things like pots, rakes, a pump, and other items essential to a small farm. They were so happy that when Sly picked up the baskets of fruit and fish, they let him have them. Mother and daughter went off with the fur, and Sly crept back to the tree with breakfast for two very hungry and lost travellers. Infamous picked up an apple as Sly began gnawing a fish. 

“To quote my beautiful, beloved husband,” said Infamous softly, “we just underestimate the hell out of you, don’t we?”

Sly thumped his tail once, happily devouring his trout.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monshikka takes a slight detour.

Monshikka watched as Misty landed his dragonhawk on the ledge, golden hair and black robes fluttering. The creature had no sooner landed than Misty dismounted and walked over to Wess and Monshikka, who stood holding each other.

“Where are Infamous and Sly?” asked Misty.

“We don’t know,” said Wess softly. “We found the Tent of the Amber Wind, and…”

Misty blinked. “You found it?”

Wess pointed to the freakish device. Misty looked in the direction indicated, and blinked again, clearly surprised. Slowly he began to approach it.

“Did he go in?” asked Misty.

“He and Sly both, and they are nowhere to be found,” said Monshikka. “They could be literally anywhere by now!”

“Why would he go in there?” asked Misty. “That is the most random of all the dream creations by the Creator on this planet! It could be whole lifetimes before we see him again!”

“It’s fading,” said Wess. “Look, it’s getting ready to move.”

The tent was indeed becoming translucent. Monshikka wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him at that moment to do what he did; all he knew was he was not letting Infamous and Sly vanish without some attempt at locating them. He lunged for the tent, running as fast as he was able to, and as it faded, managed to do a flying leap inside. 

‘That was a bloody stupid thing to do,’ he thought as he heard Wess and Misty screaming at him to stop. The last words he heard out of Wess’ mouth were “What the fuck…?” and he could not help but muse how much he sounded like Arrowsmith in that instant.

There was a terrifying sensation of free-falling, then a thump, and Monshikka landed, sprawling half out of the tent. The moment he saw where he was, he knew he’d truly managed to land himself in hot water.

He slowly dragged himself out of the tent and stood up, looking around. He was in a large round room, made entirely of grey stone, with piles of golden hay stacked at various points. There was a huge open arched window, and at one side an enormous door banded in iron, and fashioned of Black Iron wood. The Black Iron tree grew in random locations around Dargoth, usually in small groups, looming taller than the spires of the White Palace. As far as anyone could tell, they served no use whatsoever, other than to make the ground useless with their impenetrable roots, to blacken out the sky with their oddly metallic leaves, and to periodically fall on things, crushing them into oblivion. The wood was too hard for any practical use, the leaves and fruit they produced were both hard and toxic, so no animal or person could use them, and their only saving grace was they did not seem interested in covering the world with themselves. The wood could only be used after the tree had been dead roughly one hundred and fifty years, which was when it had decayed enough to be cut with an axe.

The fact that the door before him was of carefully planed and decay-free wood told Monshikka that some god made this. Some god who clearly had no intention of letting anybody in or out. He knew this for a fact. He had, once upon a time, been trapped here.

It had been late in the second life. Most of the Court were dead of age or illness or accident, and Monshikka found himself alone, with Lord Sly as his only companion. So he had thrown on a cloak, picked up a pack and a sword, and, with only a skinny, rickety, half-mycinocroft who had managed to get himself stuck in wolf form, he set out on an adventure. There was no real plan or destination in mind; just to see the land on foot, and to perhaps learn something about himself. 

One night, during a violent storm, he and Sly had slipped into a tiny, battered, cottage, and found themselves stuck. Within the cottage was nothing but a stairway, and they followed it up no more than three flights, and through that very same ironwood door. Once within, escape was impossible. The door would not open, no matter how they pulled and pried. Leaping out the window was madness; they were so high up that there was nothing but twilight and stars, and only the mighty Millennium Dragons, as large as the gods themselves and silent, moving with the slow grace of ages, dared fly so high. 

Monshikka found himself dreading they might starve in squalor, but he learned something – the golden hay within this tower had an enchantment on it, and anything they created, no matter how rough, became what they envisioned. A knot of hay could become an apple, or a turkey dinner, or a book or a mirror or a bed or even a bathtub full of hot water scented with perfume! Monshikka and Sly lived their life out peacefully in the tower; reading, weaving, learning, communicating. 

Monshikka began looking around, and found himself in a tucked-away spot, on his side, one arm around the frame of a gigantic wolf. He had died here, but he had not been alone, or sad. But he had left some things he wished to have back. He patted Sly’s bony, brittle skull carefully, then reached down to remove a collar of black leather and hematite. Centuries ago, Sly had worn that as a proud symbol of who he was – both human and mycinocroft. He had been sad to lose it, and Monshikka tucked the item into a pouch about his waist. The leather would need to be repaired or replaced, but that was fine. From his own corpse, he removed a moonstone ring, and a necklace of white gems. They had been gifts from Wess so long ago, when he was trying his hand at being a silversmith. Neither ring nor necklace was especially well-made, but… well… they were from Wess.

Exactly how long had the little Shallougha-worshiping brat been sweet on him, anyway? It was so hard to tell with Wess; everything had to be weighed and measured. The centuries suited Wess; he wore time and wisdom like a favoured robe, sitting comfortably upon his shoulders. He had all the time he needed to make the right choices, and Monshikka had no doubt when he returned to the Palace, Wess would be there.

He straightened, then jumped with a start as he realized something in the distance was approaching. Something so mind-bogglingly huge it could almost induce madness, but instead Monshikka ran to the window and watched, shivering in excitement. His stomach did strange things within him, and he felt his eyes sting with tears as he watched the mighty beast approach. 

It drew near slowly, so very slowly, supported on wings that could put all of Palace Realm in darkness. They spread out like a black blanket, but they glittered as if with their own stars and constellations. The body too was purest black, sleek and gleaming as if crafted of metal, and the gigantic eyes were green, yet blue, yet red, changing colours like a pulsar deep in space. As it drew near, Monshikka was terrified it would knock the tower to the ground, but too excited to draw back. He had never seen a Millennium Dragon, not in the centuries he had lived, and could likely never see another in all the centuries that passed again. As the head the size of the Northern Palaklais range drew near, Monshikka could contain himself no more.

“Whither doth thou go, great one?” he called to it. 

He expected to be ignored, but instead, with a silence and power coveted by the gods themselves, it drew to a halt, and turned its head to look at him. A voice spoke softly in his mind.

“I go to the Far Darkness, to the other side of the black holes, to see how my sisters and brothers fare. Long has it been since last we visited. And why are you so high up, tiny one?”

Monshikka laughed. “A mistake, but I shall find my way. I do wish however that one day I could travel with you, to see so far…”

The very tip of a claw came close, a claw as long as the oceans were deep and blacker than infinity came to him.

“Touch me, wee seeker. I shall show you a little of my journeys, since you asked. And you can show me some of who you are.”

Monshikka touched the claw, and closed his eyes. Suddenly he had wings, and space and time were such unimportant concepts. All distances could be crossed, and time meant nothing when one was born of star-matter. Eggs were laid in the hearts of dustballs that became planets, forming the burning cores that sustained life, then hatched as the planet breathed its last. Great wings broke free of stone and earth and spread across suns and stars to beat, creating the cosmic winds. Galaxies were glittering jewels to wear for fun, and the song of planets and stars formed a lullaby as one dreamed through the endless ages of space. There was music here, there was life, and light, and the golden rays of a million suns warmed the body, forming a soft bed for nap for a few centuries. Then the winds called again, and once more the black wings spread, and flew, searching endlessly for friends, for fun, for a chance to tuck one’s wings close and slip down the heart of a black hole at a giddying speed. Sometimes one found a lover just outside of the debris ring of a collapsing star, and when it exploded there would be plentiful nesting material. Eggs would be laid, the whirling dust settled around the molten core, planets formed and were born, and deep within the baby dragons slept. Time was but an endless dance, and the universe nothing more than the greatest of all playgrounds.

The claw withdrew, and Monshikka collapsed to the floor, shivering. He expected to be despondent now the connection was broken, but he found himself elated, if rather weak. How long had they spoken? How long had they held contact?

Monshikka suddenly realized that the dragon had broken the connection because he was on the verge of starving to death. So he had stood longer than he thought. He was not thirsty, so somehow that need had been met, but he was definitely on the verge of collapse from hunger. Something warned him not to eat too much at first, something he had read long ago, so he grasped some of the hay and tied them into a rough semblance of a small glass of apple juice. He wanted so much more, but knew it was not good to do so. He drank the juice, then bundled some of the hay into a pillow and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and he had a long recovery ahead of him.

***---***

It took weeks for Monshikka to build up his strength, gradually nourishing himself, pondering what he had seen when he touched the dragon. He had learned so much from the creature; more than any Dargothian who had ever lived had known. It had been worth the pain, starvation, and accidental holiday into deep space, but now he had to get going. There was a way into the tower, there had to be a way out. Still treating himself gingerly, he rose from his bed of hay and walked to the door. He knew from experience that making something with which to descend out the window and down to the ground below was pointless; for one thing he would die of cold and oxygen starvation, for another any object made of the enchanted hay tossed out the window became hay once more. The only way out was past this door, and he meant to find a way down. Pulling, pushing, shouting, kicking, swearing and crying had accomplished nothing. Axes made of the hay did less than nothing. This time, Monshikka raised his hand and knocked.

He nearly fell over in surprise when the door slowly opened. Surely it could not be that easy. There had to be a trick here. He peered behind the door, and saw the faint silhouette of a woman sitting by a cauldron, napping.

Yup. Nothing was ever easy.

He carefully stepped into the room, then paused, looking around. He was standing within a small, comfortable cabin, made of logs and stone, and rather resembling the Mountain Cabin, though Monshikka knew it could not be. In the center of the floor was a fire pit, well furnished with glowing coals. Standing above the coals on stubby legs of iron was the cauldron, and stirring it lazily with one hand as she nodded drowsily was an old woman of unguessable age. 

Gathered around her in a silent circle, watching her drowse and dream and nod was a collection of creatures and beings he knew on sight. To her right sat a great wolf of shining silver-white, with gold-tipped wings. Beside her was a mycinocroft in robes of grey, holding a scale, and beside him was a lady in white seated on a throne, smiling and humming as small white spiders busied themselves in her lap, helping her to weave a white cloth. Standing beside her was a tall elven prince, holding a sword wound with roses, then a triple-headed dog with eight legs. Directly across from the old woman was a great man dressed in blacks and greys, drinking a mug of ale. Beside him stood one who could only be Marakim, the Dawn Thief, and on his shoulder the raven, Hercandoloff. There was a black serpent, a crucib, a ghastly squishy thing with far too many eyes that appeared to be made of crushed slugs and excrement, and finally a wolf that was all the colours of the sun, its wings banded in storm grey. It was Marakim who greeted Monshikka, stepping over to him and hugging him. 

“Oh Aldesing, it has been far too long. But no, it’s Monshikka now, isn’t it?”

Monshikka felt the tears burn his eyes. “We tried to stop them...”

The embrace tightened. “Oh hush little one, it was long ago now. I know you did, but things are what they are, and we can’t change that. Though I am a little concerned for my grandson…”

“You don’t know where he went, either,” said Monshikka.

“No,” said Marakim. “I have searched and searched, but he is beyond my sight.”

“How is Arrowsmith?” asked Monshikka.

“Frail, very frail, but he breathes yet. Though I must say your darling husband is beside himself with grief and worry.” 

“I have to get home,” said Monshikka.

“I know, and I have intervened on your behalf, though I cannot say Mother Creator granted me this favour easily. She prefers to let things unwind naturally. I think she humours me.”

The triple headed dog sat up and scratched an itch on its shoulder, singing softly to itself. Monshikka glanced at it warily. 

“What is the favour?” he asked.

“You are permitted to ask Mother Creator exactly one question,” said Marakim. “One and one only. Do not waste it accidentally asking her if she is well or if she can hear you.”

“Ask for cookies,” said SkullDigger. 

“Do not ask for cookies,” said Marakim. 

“I like cookies,” said SkullDigger.

“What kind do you like?” Monshikka asked the mad god cautiously.

“Oatmeal. But no raisins. And I like to dip them in honey.”

Monshikka and Marakim exchanged glances, then Monshikka said “When I return home, I will leave for you oatmeal cookies and honey outside one of your temples.”

“Thank you.”

Marakim grinned, and whispered to Monshikka; “That won’t confuse the bastards inside the temple at all, will it?”

“If they’re true believers it seems to me the sort of thing they should expect,” said Monshikka. He took a deep breath. “I must ponder this carefully.”

Marakim kissed his brow. “You think. I will make tea.”

Monshikka seated himself next to the Moon Goddess, reaching out to idly touch her white fur. If she minded, she gave no indication, and he stroked her, touching her soft fur and silky wings. A few bits of glowing white down and fur came away in his hand, and he nearly wiped them away, then changed his mind. Fur and feathers from the Moon Goddess? That was a gift that could never be bested by anyone in any lifetime. Monshikka drew a comb out of his pocket, and with utmost gentleness and respect, he briefly combed the wolf’s back, then tucked the comb with its small collection of fur and feathers into his pocket once more, all the while thinking hard.

He had one question, and one only. It had to be clever, and it had to get him home. But it had to do more than that, too. This was none other than the Creator, and there was so much to be learned here…

It came to him almost in a flash of inspiration, as if someone had given him a godly nudge. He opened his eyes and looked to the Moon Goddess, his hand still upon her back, and knew the nudge had come from her. 

Years ago, Monshikka had a dream about a library. But not just any library. A truly gigantic library, which held all the knowledge one could ever wish to know. But more than that, it held tales and songs and recipes and spells and herb-lore and… well anything a person could want, really. It had been so very large, it seemed a mile high, with enormous arched windows that reached all the way to the ceiling, with walls of living rock, and a floor of stone. The immense bookshelves had collapsed, so the books were scattered all over, but that had hardly mattered – Monshikka would spend as many lifetimes as it took to get it in order. It had been called the Archive of the Old Gods, though who they were was anyone’s guess. Likely their information was located in the library. But the best part of the library was its location; in the dream it had been in a secret room beneath the Forbidden Library in White Palace. It had been a dream, but was that not how all Dargoth had been created? Perhaps the things he dreamed could be made real as well.

Monshikka rose to his feet. “Mother Creator, I have my question.”

“Speak it, child,” she said, “I hear you.”

He was sick to his stomach with nerves, but he managed to keep himself in control. “If it pleases you, could you send me to the Archive of the Old Gods?”

Both of her eyes opened wide, and she stared at him in astonishment for some time. Then she laughed out loud, long and hard, clapping her hands.

“Clever boy, clever boy indeed! Never did I dream you would use your one question so wisely, to benefit yourself and others! I shall grant your request, and blessings upon you, little prince.”

He bowed. “Thank you, Mother Creator, thank you very much.”

She continued to chuckle, shaking her head. “Now Marakim wishes to visit with you for a while. He shall tell me when you wish to go.”

Marakim led Monshikka into the room with the golden hay, where they sat down to drink tea and visit. Monshikka was nearly in tears once more.

“We have missed you.”

“Me? I’m not far.”

“I know,” said Monshikka. “But it’s not the same at all. You were such a good friend, and that bloody hateful tree in Twin Lakes where they killed you still stands…”

“It’s not the tree’s fault some people are evil,” said Marakim. He idly wove a plate of fish for himself. 

“We so want to see you again,” said Monshikka. “It would mean so much to us. Infamous especially, he fears you’ve forsaken him.”

Marakim sighed heavily, nibbling his fish. “I could never forsake him, he is my grandson after all. I’m just not overly delighted with the method he employs to fight his grief. Even now his temple discusses replacing him, but never fear, I’ll take care of that. Then if I catch the kid drunk on the job again I’ll have Fear-Rainer fix it so he and his darling husband each catch something that prevents them from making love for a hundred years.”

“Fear-Rainer?” inquired Monshikka, making himself some elven cloud cakes.

“The little fellow who looks like someone did something unspeakable to the corpses of a thousand slugs. He is the deity of disease and filth. Why we need one is anybody’s guess, but I do not question the Mother.” Marakim looked up as the enormous man clad in greys and blacks came into the room, clearly a bit drunk, his head wreathed in a terrific mane and beard of black hair. He sat down next to Marakim.

“Is this a private conversation?”

“It was,” said Marakim.

“Who’s the pretty lady with the mysterious and enchanting eyepatch?”

“The pretty lady would be Prince Monshikka Starlit of White Palace.”

“Pretty boy, then. It’s all the same once the lights go out.” The man took a drink of ale.

Marakim drew a deep breath. “Monshikka I present to you Harridan, lord of storms, natural disasters, horses, and passion. No don’t ask me to explain the combination, he’s Mother’s child, not mine.”

Harridan waggled his eyebrows at Marakim, who sighed. “Gods I’m glad I’m blind.”

“Give us a smoochy, pretty baby!!”

“As I was saying,” said Marakim, putting a hand up to block Harridan’s advances, “I am never far, but you are right, it’s not the same as being there in person.”

“We’d love to see you,” said Monshikka. “Blackbird and The Moonhound still cry when they think of you too long.”

“I feel the same way about the Lady Sheoloptra,” said Harridan. “Ah such beauty. Married to an elven pretty boy who sits around talking about battles instead of fighting them.”

“You do not wish to do battle with Shallougha,” said Marakim. 

Harridan belched. “I’ll wrestle him under the sheets for the hand of his lovely wife! Come on, Marakim, I’ll take you both on!”

“Is he always like this?” asked Monshikka.

“Yes,” said Marakim. “And truth be told he is gentle as a lamb for all his bluster. The problem is every time he gets someone into his bed - ships sink, villages flood, the earth splits, mountains fall and volcanoes erupt. We won’t even talk about what happened that time when he did manage to talk Sheoloptra into his bed. The gods of natural disasters and death? Oh my.”

“What happened?” asked Monshikka.

“Let’s just say the civilization of Keleros was lovely,” said Marakim.

Harridan looked annoyed. “We said we were sorry.”

“Yes that always helps,” said Marakim. He turned his attention back to Monshikka. “You wed Wess, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Monshikka. “It was a proper tea ceremony, as is appropriate to Shallougha, but I confess to feeling it was a little… rushed and inadequate.”

“You did all think you were going to die,” said Marakim.

“And some of us did,” said Monshikka. “I’m no longer a virgin but I would still like the full Kiriannan ceremony.”

Marakim laughed. “Monshikka if you can talk Wess into that, I swear to you here and now that I shall come to Dargoth for the five days it takes.”

“Well now this I must do,” said Monshikka. “That alone should be enough to get Wess into the outfit.”

“What’s all this?” A tall elven man walked into the room, smelling of roses. “Do I hear plotting against one of my own children?”

“Us? Plot?” said Harridan.

“I do hear plotting,” said Shallougha. “This nefarious scheme must be discussed at length!”

“I don’t think the mortal has that sort of time,” said Harridan.

“I should kick you,” said Shallougha. He turned eyes like starfire to Monshikka. “What say you?”

“If I can get Wess married in a Kiriannan ceremony then Marakim will come back for five days and it is not open for discussion, because we miss him,” said Monshikka firmly.

“Oh indeed?” said Shallougha, looking at Marakim. “Well then I’m coming too.”

The elven god of warfare and philosophy departed. Monshikka stared at Marakim.

“I seem to recall this sort of thing happening a lot when you were alive,” said Monshikka. 

“It’s a gift,” said Marakim.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Marakim walked Monshikka to the stairway that would take him home, then paused, their hands linked. For a long time, they said nothing.

“It’s hard to be so far away, yet watch you live your lives, and not be part of it,” said Marakim. 

“We miss you,” said Monshikka. “Is there no way to ever return? Even briefly, for visits?”

“I will speak to Mother about it, but I suspect I know the answer. I was called up here to be a god, to watch over those who are so often overlooked. That requires a great deal of attention, and she will ask me how I will feel if a child dies whilst I was off visiting. And I will say that children die even when I watch. Some cannot be saved no matter how hard you work.” He sighed. “I will have to call up one of my children to assist me. Perhaps two. There is more than I can do alone anyway, and it is time that I admitted that before someone suffers who could have been helped. And now, my lovely…”

Marakim took both of Monshikka’s hands, then leaned forward to kiss him. Monshikka pulled free to hug his old friend tightly, reluctant to release him.

“I’ll be at your wedding, regardless of all else,” said Marakim. “Oh – and don’t forget SkullDigger’s honey and cookies. We all much prefer him happy.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

They gazed at one another for a long time, then Monshikka turned to go, following the stairs down from the tower, to suddenly emerge in the library he had dreamed of so very long ago. It looked as it had in his dream; jumbled and decayed and in need of repair, but the books were perfect. He was so glad he had woken up before his dream had a chance to turn, and have all the books be rotted and unreadable. He pounced on one bound in gold and black leather, and laughed as he saw the title.

“How Harridan destroyed Keleros.”

He set the book aside, then pounced on another, delighting in what he found. So many books, so very many books! Books he had never even heard of, let alone seen! 

“Thank you, great Creator-Mother!” Monshikka sang out loud, meaning every syllable from the bottom of his heart. 

Managing to leave the books now by some great strength of will, he ran to where he remembered the stairs that led up into the palace were, and hurried as quickly as he could, emerging from behind a statue of Drakkaus and into the main floor of the library. His two mycinocroft attendants stood bolt upright in astonishment.

“Your highness! We thought…” 

Monshikka coughed. He was still fragile from his experience with the Millennium Dragon, but he had a great deal to tell. He pointed to the grey mycinocroft, named Vitorgi.

“Tell the queen and king I’m home.” He then pointed to the black mycinocroft, Bryn. “You tell my husband. I’m going to fall onto a couch and try to feel better.”

The two attendants hurried off in a flurry of tails and robes. Monshikka sat down on one of the embroidered couches, weak, but happy.

“I’m home.”

He was not alone long; The Moonhound tore into the room so quickly she nearly slid into a bookshelf, scrabbling to get her footing on the polished white stone. When at last she had it, she lunged for Monshikka, all but landing in his lap and holding him tightly. 

“Where have you been? We’ve been frantic! You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

Misty was next, then behind him Blue. Then Wess tore in like an explosion and pounced on him, grabbing him tightly and bursting into tears. It was extremely unusual for a priest of Shallougha to allow himself such a display of emotion in public, but Wess clearly did not care what anyone thought, and that included Shallougha. Monshikka returned the embrace, holding him tightly. 

“Where have you been?” The Moonhound asked. “Where? We were going out of our minds! Did you find Infamous and Sly?”

“No,” said Monshikka, still holding Wess tightly. He looked at The Moonhound mournfully. “I’ll tell you everything over a hot meal, I’m famished.”

“You look it,” she said. “And I say that with love but I’ve seen you more robust. All right, we’ll give you and Wess a chance to get reacquainted, then you can tell us all about it when dinner is ready.”

***

They were gathered at the table in the dining hall, Monshikka eating his fill for the first time in ages, and trying not to choke himself in the process, he was so hungry.

“How long was I gone?” he asked. 

“Four months,” said The Moonhound. “Nearly five. I don’t mind telling you that when Wess and Misty came back and said they’d last seen you, Infamous, and Sly diving into the Tent of the Amber Wind I was in favour of hunting all of you down and breaking your knee caps.”

“She was,” said Arrowsmith. 

Monshikka glanced at him. He looked like a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead. How he managed to be upright and talking was anyone’s guess, but perhaps pure obstinance was keeping him alive, and a need to see Infamous again. Blackbird did not look much better, if truth be told, but the tiny mage was not about to go down without a fight.

“I just had to try,” said Monshikka. “I know I spend most of my time in the Library, but I can fight too.”

“No one is saying you can’t,” said Misty, “but leaping into that tent… where have you been?!”

“Well for some of it, I really have no idea,” said Monshikka. “I landed myself in the Golden Tower, and…”

“The Golden Tower?!” exclaimed Blackbird. “You mean that nasty little hut that’s actually hundreds of miles high?”

“The very same,” said Monshikka. “And I am not certain for how long, but I do know a significant portion of my time there was spent locked in communication with a Millennium Dragon.”

There was silence. Monshikka continued, telling of how he touched the great claw, and they shared thoughts and minds, which nearly killed him, but he had learned so much about these creatures, including how they incubated for billions of years within planets, forming their cores and growing, finally bursting free of the dead husks. 

“When we at last broke contact, I was nearly dead,” said Monshikka. “I had to be careful not to stuff myself with food at first opportunity, because oddly enough the last thing a starving person needs is a huge pile of food. I had to nurse myself slowly on juices, finally building up to food, and by then… I have no idea how much time had passed.”

“How did you get out of the tower?” asked Arrowsmith.

“Well I went to the Black Iron door and knocked. It was the only thing left to try, nothing else had worked. And the door opened.” 

Monshikka fell silent. His friends waited.

“Well?” said Blackbird at last.

“The door opened,” said Monshikka, “and… it was… uh… well it was the Creator with… the other gods, which… reminds me, someone really needs to bring me a large plate of oatmeal cookies, no raisins, and a pot of honey. The sooner the better.”

“Did you see Marakim?” Misty asked.

“I did indeed see Marakim,” said Monshikka. “We talked for a long time, it was so good to see him. And he… made me a promise.”

“Monshikka,” said The Moonhound, “you do realize that if anyone other than you was telling us this, we would call him or her a liar.”

“Well I have proof that I am not lying,” said Monshikka, handing The Moonhound the comb with the fur and tiny feathers in it. “and will be more than happy to show more to you after I’ve eaten. Marakim promised to come visit for five days.”

The excitement was immediate, and Monshikka could not help but grin at their enthusiasm. Then he heard Arrowsmith ask dryly; “So what’s the catch?”

Monshikka cleared his throat, and looked to Wess to make sure he was not currently eating or drinking anything. “The catch is Wess has to marry me in a five day long Kiriannan ceremony.”

Monshikka watched as Wess quite literally fell of his chair, landing on the floor with an undignified thump. Arrowsmith laughed.

“Simplicity meets pomposity!” he said. “Oh boy I can’t wait to see this. So is Shallougha showing up too?”

“Yes,” said Monshikka in a small voice. 

More howls of laughter. Monshikka peered under the table. “My darling are you coming out?”

“No. I like it here.”

“Please?” asked Monshikka softly.

Wess crept out just far enough to peer over the edge of the table, large brown eyes fixed on Monshikka. 

“I cannot believe you would first worry me nearly into the grave, then use my own god against me.”

“Oh speak carefully, Wess,” said Monshikka. “It was his own idea to come and see you are treated with dignity.”

“In other words – I am out of options. I have to do this.”

“Yes.”

He sighed heavily, and took his seat at the table once more. “Well can I at least see this proof of which you speak?”

“Yes I would rather like to see this myself,” said Arrowsmith. “So what’s this about honey and oatmeal cookies?” 

“Personal request from SkullDigger,” said Monshikka. “Considering we have reason to believe he’s found a way into the palace, I’d like to keep him happy. There are worse things he could be asking for.”

“Are we sure it’s SkullDigger that little Kari has been seeing?” asked Wess. 

“Seven eyes and three heads,” said Arrowsmith. “Sounds like him.”

“It does, but so far all it has done is hide under the bed,” said Wess. “SkullDigger doesn’t plot, and he doesn’t bother with long term plans. He’s insane. He does what he does when he does it. Could be a lesser demon playing dress-up. I do not see how SkullDigger could be sneaking around here without one of us knowing it. And Monshikka was in direct contact with Marakim, who would absolutely know if SkullDigger was in here.”

“Yeah, he’d tell us,” said Arrowsmith thoughtfully. 

Monshikka finished his meal, then took his friends to the newly-opened doorway behind the statue of Drakkaus; one carefully hidden by an optical illusion created in the stonework. Slowly they walked down the wide curving staircase, and into the gigantic chamber, with its impossibly high walls of stone that sloped ever so slightly inwards, and the mile-high windows that looked over forests and meadows that existed nowhere near White Palace. It was not even the right time of the year; it was autumn in the rest of the world. Here it appeared to be spring. Wess picked up a book and stared at it, shaking his head.

“This is a copy of ‘Sharla’s Secrets’. This should not be here.”

“Why not?” asked Arrowsmith, easing himself down onto a bench.

“In the first life,” said The Moonhound, “Women had only recently won the right to education outside the home. The idea that we might be so appallingly normal as to like kinky sex, and write about it, had a lot of upper-class men completely scandalized. When a woman named Lady Maed Berginn wrote an entire book about incestuous lesbian princesses who liked doing things such as tying each other up and spanking one another, among other things, there was a huge outcry among the ruling classes. They demanded all copies be destroyed, and Lady Berginn imprisoned.”

“And thus,” said Wess, “a rather amateurish bit of smut became one of the most coveted pieces of fiction in Dargothian history. But all copies were destroyed. All of them. How did this get here?”

He set the book on a stone table, then picked up another, reading the cover, then looking to Monshikka. “What is this place?”

Monshikka seated himself beside Arrowsmith. “A very long time ago I had a dream about a library. This library, in fact. A library in which every book that ever existed was held, created by forces we did not know and did not understand. In my dream I called it the Archive of the Old Gods, and it had been here, located under the Forbidden Library. When Marakim told me he had managed to get me one question to ask the Creator, I knew I had to think very carefully in order to make sure I got home. So I took a chance, and asked if she would send me here. I thought… all Dargoth was created in a dream. Maybe my dreams can be made real too.”

“It will take us all of our remaining lives together to put this place in order,” said The Moonhound.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” said Misty. “It means somewhere in this mess is the book with the information on how to treat Arrowsmith and Blackbird.”

The seven people gathered in the room slowly looked around at the imposing heaps of books; veritable rolling hills of leather, paper, parchment, wood, and vellum. 

“By all the gods,” said The Moonhound softly. “Where do we even begin?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four knights walk into a bar…

Infamous sat in the tavern, Sly at his side, drinking beer. Four months, they had been gone. Four long horrible months. They had tried several times to gather a few of the flowers, but the field in which they grew was trapped with an enchantment. It alerted the owner the moment anything drew too near, and then the dogs were released. So far they had not managed to get so much as a petal. And there was one other small problem with which to contend.

“A million pieces of gold,” grumbled Infamous quietly. “Where are we supposed to find a million pieces of gold? That would easily empty two if not three of the Five Sacred Vaults of Marakim, and we’re not home to loot them in the first place.”

Lord Sylvannamyth seemed to be pondering this very question as the two sat together in the loud and crowded tavern. Thus far their adventure had not been going well. They had managed to track down and speak to several very powerful mages, but all had told them the same things; spells of such power that they could transport the pair home cost a great deal. Gold first, spells next. Infamous was pretty damned sure Blackbird could cast the same spell in his sleep and would only want breakfast for it afterwards. Then there was the slight problem of having managed to make an enemy of Lord Turnyoa without having actually laid eyes on the man. It was he and his men who had chased Infamous and Sly their first night in this strange, hateful land, and apparently they were still being sought for the crime of falling onto the patch of flowers. 

He had no idea where they were, but it certainly wasn’t Palace Realm. Infamous kept talking. 

“We’ve got 23 gold between us. That will keep us going for a while but it won’t get us what we need, like a horse for instance.” Infamous glanced at Sly. “Of course you could just shape-shift and I could ride you. Assuming you were agreeable.”

Sly raised an eyebrow but didn’t look too put out by the idea. 

“You’d be the most impressive steed this land has ever seen.”

Lord Sylvannamyth seemed to need time to consider. Infamous grinned, thinking how strange it was that even though Sly could not speak, he communicated all the same. Infamous chanced a glance around the room, and noticed that more than a few people seemed to be staring at them. 

“We appear to be drawing attention to ourselves.”

Sly had a drink of beer. Infamous felt the hair on the back of his neck tingle, and he glanced around once more. He felt his heart sink.

“There are four knights in full plate sitting across the room staring at us. How, exactly, do you sit in a pub in full plate? It must be magic armour – they don’t seem to be sitting in their own shit.”

Sly lowered his head to bite at his meat pie. Infamous watched as the knights gossiped and whispered like children, then groaned quietly as they stood up and began approaching. Definitely magical armour – it was utterly silent, and gleamed as if it was a strange blend of silver, gold, and hematite. Each bore on the breastplate the insignia of a winged horse over crossed swords and scrolls. Sly growled at his dinner, chasing a piece of beef around his plate. Infamous gave him a light nudge.

“Use your fork. Honestly, I can’t take you anywhere.”

The knights came to stand before Infamous, each holding his helm, each gazing at Infamous with obvious curiosity.

“How may I serve you, my Lords?” Infamous asked. He could almost feel Monshikka patting him on the head for remembering his manners. 

“Forgive our curiosity,” said a knight with long fire-red hair. He seemed to be pondering how Infamous could have a length of black silk tied over his eyes, and yet see them.

“Forgiven,” said Infamous. “Please join me at my table, you seem like men with much on your minds.”

“Indeed we are,” said the red-haired knight, as he and his friends seated themselves at the table. “I am Sir Raben. These worthy knights are Sir Jaden, who is also my brother, Sir Hamish, and Sir Airyn. And you are…?”

“Infamous Keeper. My friend with no social graces is Lord Sylvannamyth.”

The knights watched Sly growl face-down at his food as he ate. 

“Is he… well?” asked Sir Raben.

Infamous looked at Sly fondly. “He’s as well as he ever is. It’s best just to not pay him any heed; he takes some explaining to understand.”

Sly killed a potato with certain amount of glee then nudged it aside. As Sir Raben continued to stare, Sir Hamish cleared his throat and began to speak to Infamous.

“We are knights on a great quest, to free a holy artifact...”

At this point, Infamous heard Arrowsmith’s voice in his ear, reciting a litany of Monty Python’s ‘Holy Grail’ quotes. He bit his tongue and managed to outwardly remain serious.

“…But we find ourselves in need of someone with special skills. Someone able to find his way into secured rooms without alerting the guards.”

Infamous stared at the man. “And what makes you think I have such skills?”

“Sir Jaden had a feeling,” said Sir Airyn. Infamous did not miss the derisive tone of his voice.

“Then he is very astute,” said Infamous coldly. He turned his attention to Sir Jaden. “I take it this thing you seek is closely guarded.”

Sir Jaden opened his mouth, but did not get a chance to speak.

“It’s a fool’s quest,” said Sir Airyn. “We are not even certain where this thing is being held. All we have is the twitchings and whims of a little boy passing himself off as a seer.”

“Seers are rather near and dear to me,” said Infamous coldly. He looked to Sir Jaden. “What do you see, child?”

The very young man stared at Infamous nervously. It was difficult to believe he was a warrior. His older brother gently urged him on.

“Speak up, Jaden, it’s all right.”

“I see it in my dreams,” said Jaden to Infamous, blue eyes earnest. “It is guarded by horses of shadow, and great hounds, in a castle of fire and smoke.”

Infamous had heard enough of Arrowsmith’s predictions to know that this was not necessarily a literal interpretation of the dream. Of course if it was… well good luck getting into it.

“Childish ravings,” said Airyn dismissively.

“Is he always this much fun?” asked Infamous. “Or is today just special?”

“Please,” said Jaden to Infamous. “I see what you are. You are a shadow the likes of which we have never seen. Most of those who shadow the footsteps of the honest to cut their purses and loot their homes are without compassion or conscience, whereas you are nothing but compassion! You take to ensure children do not starve or go without shoes or shelter. You make certain that those who cannot care for themselves are not forgotten. Our order has searched for over a century for one such as you. We are knights, and as such cannot creep about in dark places. We are forbidden to do such things. We are to act openly at all times. Will you not help us?”

“Is there nothing we can offer you in exchange?” said Sir Hamish.

“I will help you,” said Infamous quietly. “Perhaps in doing so I will find what I seek; a way home.”

“Then it is as Jaden said,” said Raben. “You are from lands far from ours.”

“Very far,” said Infamous. “So far in fact that several mages and witches have assured me it will cost a million pieces of gold to purchase all the spells.”

Sir Airyn stood up with a great show of outrage. “And we of course are to just pull such a sum out of our pockets?!”

“Frankly we’d be happy with just the spells,” said Infamous. “I have a lover back home in dire need of certain medicines and I would rather be tending to that business than be sitting here wasting my time on histrionic brats like you.”

“HISTRIONIC…?”

“Sir Airyn sit down!” snapped Sir Raben. “If you cannot behave as does a knight then pray at least behave as an adult!” Raben looked to Infamous. “If we could procure for you these spells, you would help us in our quest?”

“I will,” said Infamous. “But the price of the spells is far more than can rightfully be asked for such a job as this.”

“Do not be so certain,” said Sir Hamish grimly. “My companions have not seen the place to which we must travel. I have. It is a place where even the demons of the black mountains fear to go. If the end of our journey sees all of us together, I should be very much surprised.”

“Tell me of your lover,” said Jaden. “Is she beautiful? With skin whiter than virgin snow and hair of autumn-red, and eyes of jade?”

“Hush child,” said Raben. He then looked to Infamous. “You must forgive my brother, he is younger on the inside than the outside, but a stalwart knight nonetheless.”

“He is forgiven,” said Infamous. “And since he asked, I feel compelled to tell him my true love has hair and eyes of golden-brown.”

“And white skin?”

“Jaden, enough,” said Raben. He looked to Infamous. “Will you accept our offer?”

Infamous looked to Sly. “What say you? We’re certainly not going to find our way home without help.”

“Must you pretend to consult with your half-wit?” asked Airyn. “You have not insulted us enough?”

Infamous turned his head to look at the knight. He would narrow his eyes if he had any.

“You hear me and hear me well, you tin-dressed brat. He is Lord Sylvannamyth, and while you may not understand him or his actions he is no half-wit, and his bloodlines, in case you are interested since you are so proud of your own meager grasping threads, date back centuries to a race of beings whose very appearance commands respect. And if that impresses you not, then perhaps I will. I am Ilenya Skywolf, grandson of the Dawn Thief Marakim, and servant to the Wizard-King of Dargoth.”

“Half-wits and braggarts,” said Airyn. “Your lands are far away, you can claim any heritage you like.”

“Please come,” said Jaden softly, taking Infamous’ hand. “Pay no heed to him. Please come. We have looked for so long.”

Infamous looked to Sly. “It’s up to you. You’re the one who has to carry me.”

Sly bit a potato and tossed it. Infamous sighed and looked to the knights.

“His Lordship says we will depart when he is done eating.”

Sly snapped at Infamous, who looked towards him once more.

“What?”

Sly snapped once more. Infamous rolled his eyes and motioned to a serving wench.

“My friend requires a joint of rare meat. I require more beer.”

She eyed Sly warily. “He’s not dangerous, is he?”

“No,” said Infamous softly. “He is gentle as a kitten with gentle people. Only loud and foul people need fear him.”

She curtseyed and departed to get their food and drink. Sir Airyn looked offended.

“Were you insulting me?”

“No,” said Infamous, “I was trying to quiet the fears of a frightened girl. But I find it most amusing that you hear the words ‘loud’ and ‘foul’ and assume I am speaking of you.”

Sir Hamish fought hard to hold back his laughter, as did Sir Raben. Sir Jaden leaned forward to take Infamous’ hand once more. 

“You will come?”

“We will come,” assured Infamous. “Once Lord Sly is done with his meat. As you can see he cares little for potatoes.”

“Then I shall have them,” said Sir Hamish, “If his Lordship is agreeable. I find potatoes with sweet cream and butter to be a most agreeable dish.”

Sir Hamish took a potato from Sly’s dish with no reaction. Sly was a carnivore, and he certainly didn’t want them. Infamous noticed that Sir Airyn did not dare take anything. Sir Jaden ate his own potatoes, then became curious about Sly, examining him much as a boy would look over a tame wolf.

“He has a ridge of hair down his back,” said Jaden. “It’s so soft! Unlike anything ever I have felt!”

Sir Raben sighed. “Jaden…”

“But it is!”

Infamous watched Sly, knowing that if he decided he didn’t want to be petted, he would let the men know. Raben felt the back of Sly’s neck, and his eyes became enormous. 

“I never felt anything so soft! I have nothing to compare it to! Hamish, feel this!”

Sly mumbled a few half-hearted growls as he was petted. By now most of the tavern’s occupants were staring at them. The server came with their meat and beer, and watched the three knights pet Sly. She raised an eyebrow.

“We don’t get out much,” said Infamous. 

She set down the tray, then carefully reached out to touch the stripe of hair, tangling her small hand into the luxurious fluff.

“How odd!” she said.

“Odd?” questioned Infamous.

“It feels just like the fur my mother and sister combed from the coat of an enchanted wolf last spring!”

“No such thing!” stated Airyn. “By all the gods is all the world populated by fools and liars?!”

Infamous looked at Sly. “What do you think? Is this young woman a fool, and you a liar?”

Sly stood up and gave himself a vigorous shake. Moments later, there sat a wolf that could easily stare the young woman in the eye from a seated position. She laughed. 

“It is you! Silly thing. Thank you for the fur!”

She gave him his plate of meat, setting it on the floor, then went about her business. Sir Airyn sat with his jaw hanging open, just staring.

“As I said,” said Infamous, “he is Lord Sylvannamyth, and he is no half-wit. He has been my friend through many years, and many adventures, and I will not hear anyone speak ill of him.”

Sir Jaden stood bolt upright. “He needs tack! He is after all a magical steed!”

Jaden ran off, excited. Infamous looked to Sir Raben.

“Tack? Did he go off to do what I think he did?”

Sir Raben sighed heavily. “Fortunately our family is wealthy, but… well… the boy is impulsive.”

***---***

Sly looked magnificent in his tack, and he seemed to feel rather magnificent as well. Infamous watched him prance in the street, shaking his head to make the golden bells on his bridle jingle. He was wearing what was a miniature version of the grand harnesses the war horses were wearing, including his own caparison. He almost danced he was so pleased with his finery.

“See this is why no one wants to have sex with you,” said Infamous as Sly pranced past, head and tail high.

Sly made a point of smacking Infamous with his tail, but did finally stop showing off long enough for Infamous to get onto his back. Once Infamous was firmly in the saddle, Sly did a fair imitation of rearing. 

“You are enjoying this way too much.”

Sly sneezed violently, then bounded ahead to join the four knights on their horses. The horses did not seem terribly pleased to meet Sly, but did not object to his presence. Infamous had to learn how to ride a steed that bounced.

“Sly if you make me throw up, where do you suppose it will go?”

Sly ceased his bouncing and capering, but still appeared to be enjoying himself. His large paws scraped up small dust clouds from the road, his harness jingling quietly.

“So where are we off to?” asked Infamous. 

“To see the head of our order, to have you approved,” said Sir Hamish.

“And what if she doesn’t like me?” asked Infamous.

“Then he will have you executed,” said Sir Airyn.

Infamous didn’t have to tell Sly to stop – they were clearly on the same page.

“Executed?” said Infamous. “To quote someone very near and dear to me – fuck the hell out of this.”

Hamish sighed heavily and turned his horse so he was facing Infamous. “No one is going to execute you.”

“Then why did Sir Happy say so?” asked Infamous. “Look I have no desire to walk into a fortress to be hung up by my ankles and have my throat cut. There are very few causes I am willing to die for, and this is not one of them.”

“Sir Airyn has been called before the head of our order more than once for his behaviour,” said Sir Raben, gazing angrily at Airyn. “He will do well to keep in mind his knighthood dangles by a thread. Master Keeper, none shall harm you or your travelling companion. We need you far too much to do anything so foolish, and even if Airyn does not care for you, my brother does. And these days, Jaden’s word carries far more weight.”

Infamous eyed the knights. His vision was still little more than grainy shadows, but he saw well enough to flee if he had to. 

“If you are not telling me the truth,” said Infamous, “there will be repercussions.”

“We are not lying to you,” said Sir Raben gently. “None shall harm you. You have our word as knights.”

“Oh stop speaking to it as if it was an equal!” Airyn suddenly yanked Infamous’ blindfold off. Sly actually cringed, wincing, knowing the graveness of the insult. Infamous sat upon his friend, his eyeless sockets on display for all the world to see, the blindfold that was the symbol of his devotion dangling from Airyn’s fist.

For a long moment, Infamous did nothing, trying to absorb the insult, trying to decide what to do. He breathed deeply.

“You will return that, and you will do so now.”

Sir Airyn shrieked, dropped the blindfold, turn his horse around and fled. Sly walked over to the blindfold, allowing Infamous to reach down and pick it up.

“I am Infamous Keeper,” he said softly, “born one thousand years ago Ilenya Skywolf, grandson of Marakim, the Dawn Thief. I serve Hercandoloff, the Wizard of the White Palace, and his queen, Lord High General of the Armies, The Moonhound. And I do not tolerate insult any more than any of you would. Now tell me true – do you wish my help? Or should I just leave?”

Raben, Jaden and Hamish were staring in horror and amazement at Infamous, who saw their expressions only as eerie spectral blurs.

“You’re blind!” said Hamish, almost whispering the words. “Yet you see!”

“That would take too long to explain,” said Infamous.

Raben was watching Sir Airyn gallop off into the distance. “Should we wait for him?”

“I’m not waiting,” said Jaden.

“Nor I,” said Hamish. “Let him run! He already cost us one good thief, and nearly cost us a better thief. He almost behaved as if he was against the quest. He’ll catch up when he regains his senses, and if he does not, all the better. Let us go forth, it is already late afternoon, I should like to reach a decent place to camp for the night as well as put some miles behind us.”

They continued on their way, a little more subdued. At least… for a while.

“Why can you see if you’re blind?” asked Jaden.

Well nice to see Sir Airyn’s loss hadn’t spoiled anyone’s day. 

“My god enables me to see.”

“Why are you blind?”

“Someone threw glass in my face.”

“Does your wife mind?”

“What wife?”

“The maiden with the eyes and hair of golden brown!”

“He’s not a maiden. And no, he doesn’t mind at all.”

Silence. Infamous sighed. 

“He’s a man?” said Raben.

“He certainly is, every inch of him,” said Infamous. “I know because I’ve looked.”

“Why would you want to marry a man?” asked Hamish.

“Well somebody had to,” said Infamous. “Poor fellow was all alone, trapped in a pub, nobody to love him…”

“You honestly married another man?” said Raben.

Infamous sighed again. “Yes I honestly married a man. Why?”

“I don’t know. Just can’t see the charm in another man, personally.”

“Well good, then I won’t have to worry about introducing him to you.”

Raben puffed himself up. “Sir. Even if I did see the charm in other men, I am quite sure I would leave yours alone. I am a knight after all, not a lout.”

“You could be both,” said Jaden brightly. “Like Sir Airyn.”

“I must say,” said Infamous, “I did expect his loss to have more of an effect than it has.”

“Someone would have frightened his bowels into voiding eventually,” said Hamish grimly.

“Tell me about your husband!” said Jaden. “Is he pretty and dainty like a maiden?”

“No,” said Infamous, “he’s actually quite large and a bit smelly.”

Jaden sighed. “You have no romance.”

“I beg to differ, he and I have the greatest of all romances,” said Infamous. “Romance is not all walks on the beach and gazing at one another as the sun sets. Sometimes it’s making sure the person you love gets the last cookie, or making soup when one of you is sick, or letting them sleep when the baby wakes up…”

“Baby?” inquired Hamish warily.

“We adopted three.”

Hamish sagged in his saddle with relief. “Oh thank goodness, I was having the most frightful visions…”

“I assure you, neither he nor I have ever been pregnant,” said Infamous. Then added; “Not for lack of trying…”

Raben laughed. Hamish just rolled his eyes. Jaden looked confused.

“How do two men…?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” said Infamous.

“Oh everybody says that,” said Jaden, pouting.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infamous is approved, and Monshikka goes on an adventure of his own.

Infamous and Sly walked down the silent halls, their footsteps echoing. The floors and walls were crafted of a pale grey marble, accented in gold. At the end of the hall was an enormous marble door, with two guards on either side in gleaming peal grey armour. Walking with them were Jaden, Raben, and Hamish. Infamous did not like this situation in the least, especially since he was still with minimal vision, and he did not trust his spells to work. If he got into trouble, he could be in real danger. 

They paused before the four guards at the door. They were all imposingly tall, and eyes Infamous and Sly much the same way they would look at putrid garbage on the ground. 

“Sir Raben has news for the Sanperii Inka,” he said. 

The guards seemed disdainful, but opened the door. Hamish and Jaden waited as Raben led Infamous and Sly into a great office, with walls of darkly polished wood and floors of stone. The windows were enormous, looking out over a busy city square. Behind a great desk was a withered looking toad of a man in red and silver robes. Standing beside him was Sir Airyn.

“So good to see you again,” said Raben.

Airyn said nothing. The old man seated at the desk stared sourly at Infamous and Sly.

“And what are these?” he asked, and Infamous took Sly’s hand and gently squeezed it as his friend growled very softly. 

Raben bowed formally. “Sanperii, this is Infamous Keeper, and his loyal companion Lord Sylvannamyth. They have agreed to help us on our quest.”

“Why is he blindfolded?” demanded the old man.

Infamous reached up and removed the fold of black silk, smiling cryptically as his eyeless sockets faced Sanperii Inka. 

“You bring me a useless blind thief? What am I to do with that?!”

“Just dismiss it, Sanperii,” said Airyn. “It’s nothing but cheap parlour tricks suitable for mystifying fools.”

“Is that what you were? Mystified?” inquired Infamous. “I could have sworn you were frightened out of your skin and fled screaming.”

Airyn opened his mouth, but Raben stepped forward. “Venerable sir, I do not bring you parlour tricks. I bring to you a most accomplished Shadow. Jaden himself chose him.”

“Oh, our little seer-boy did, hmm?” The old man sounded slightly more amenable. “Tell me, blind thief, have they told you what we are seeking?”

“No,” said Infamous. “Only that reaching it will be exceedingly difficult.”

“More than difficult. This task may well cost you your life, and more. The demons that inhabit this valley may drag your very life-spirit down into their nightmare world, and keep you there forever.”

“I will risk it.”

“A brave one, aren’t you?”

“For some things,” said Infamous. 

The old man nodded. “Sir Airyn has told me what you seek. A way back to your distant lands. If you do this thing we ask, we shall send you there. If indeed you survive.”

“And what am I looking for?” inquired Infamous. 

“A ball of crystal, infused with the most powerful of spells, and the demonic soul of a pearl dragon. It was buried with the Princess Aldima, and she holds it still. The lands surrounding her castle are host to the dead, and ghosts, ghouls, demons, and undead giants roam endlessly. You have your work cut out for you, little blind thief.”

“So if I steal for you this crystal, then you will send me home.”

“I swear it to you.”

“Then when do we leave?”

“That is up to Sir Raben. Now if you do not mind, I have other matters to which I must attend.”

Raben led Infamous and Sly out of the chamber, breathing a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them.

“That went better than expected. Especially with Airyn in the room, whispering lies into the old man’s ear.”

“Why is he against this quest?” asked Infamous. 

“That I do not know. And it worries me. Airyn is not feeble-minded, whatever his other faults may be. He knows something we do not.” Raben glanced at Infamous. “I assume you would like to leave as soon as possible.”

“Yes.” 

“I’ll take you to my quarters, I have business to attend to. We will eat supper together, then you, Jaden, Hamish, and your companion Sly can make ready while I get a few things sorted.” He glanced at Infamous. “Thank you for being kind to Jaden.”

“I like Jaden.”

“There is much in him that is likeable, but I fear for him sometimes. He is a great knight and formidable in battle, but parts of him are still a little boy, and I wonder what effect all this travel and violence has on him.”

“Is there no place more suitable for him?”

“No,” said Raben. “A plague went through this land a few years ago. It claimed our parents, grand parents, siblings, and many others. Jaden became a knight to stay close to me, and he is very good at it. But I worry about his fate if he were to become crippled in battle, or if I were to die. I’m sure the Sanperii would find him a place of honour, I would just prefer he had a safe home where he could write his books and see that which he may see.”

Infamous smiled as he tied the black cloth around his eyes once more. “Did he know my husband is a seer?”

“No! He did not!” Raben laughed. “Jaden would love to meet him, I’m sure. He gets so frustrated having no one believe in his abilities. He inherited them from our mother. Now there was a woman no child dared to disobey! I swear she knew if we so much as thought about it.” He drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I miss her so very much. So!” he drew a steadying breath. “Tell me of your beloved, the Seer.”

“Well he’s big and brave and handsome…knowledgeable in the old ways of his people. Tells terrible jokes, sings wonderfully, and occasionally has arguments with people who have been dead for hundreds of years. I love him.”

“And you wish to get back to him.”

“More than that. He’s dying, and I want to get back to him before that happens. I came to these lands in search of a flower that could save his life, and I found it, but it is guarded by a mad man and his hounds.”

“Lord Turnyoa.”

“Oh you have heard of him.”

“I once shared tea and exchanged riddles with three wights and a troll in a cave and I would rather go do it again than deal with Lord Turnyoa. He has three acres of those flowers. Three acres! And he allowed his own wife to rot away rather than give her so much as a petal. He is my next quest. He pillaged the fields for seeds and cuttings, then when he had his fill, he sent out cut throats and looters to destroy those left. I do not know how you shall acquire so much as one plant, but mark my words, I will help.”

They reached Raben’s rooms and opened the door. There they found Jaden running about with great bolts of cloth, five seamstresses, and Sir Hamish standing in the middle of all the chaos in his undergarments, sipping tea.

“I am apparently in need of a new uniform,” said Hamish.

“Jaden…” said Raben wearily.

“We won’t be long!”

“We are leaving in the morning!” said Raben.

Jaden shrugged. “Then I’ll sew faster.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the five month since Infamous and Sly had vanished, the Court had rallied around Arrowsmith, trying to cheer him up, assure him that Infamous would do all he could to return, and work at finding new ways to treat his illness. Physically he was feeling a little better. Enough so that he could finally get Harley in working order once more. The motorcycle was not a fan of Niri, through it seemed to like Kiri well enough. 

Monshikka had been seated on a bench, watching Arrowsmith work on the bike. Wess was assisting Arrowsmith, shirt off, long hair spilling down his back. Monshikka cocked his head as he pondered the tattoo on his young husband’s back.

“Did that hurt?” he asked.

“The tattoo? In a word – yes.”

“I think I’d like one.”

Wess looked to Monshikka. “Darling, dearest, beautiful, they hurt.”

Monshikka looked indignant. “Are you saying you don’t think I can handle a little pain?”

“No, not at all, but are you talking about a full back piece?”

“Yes.”

“They hurt,” said Arrowsmith and Wess in perfect unison.

“Well I’m getting one and you can’t stop me. And Arrowsmith is helping.”

Arrowsmith looked up, eyes wide. “Oh sure, drag the big smelly guy into it.”

“You’re taking me to Earth to get a tattoo and that is final.”

“Well you’ve gotten a mite uppity since you got married.”

“I’m a prince, I was always uppity. And please? There are so few tattoo artists here, and I know you know a few very good ones.”

“Yes I do, but back pieces hurt, they take a long time, and they are expensive.” Arrowsmith sat back, his long legs stretched out before him. “You really want me to take you to Earth for a tattoo?”

Monshikka nodded. “If you’re well enough.”

Arrowsmith considered that. Was he well enough? For the moment, anyway. It might be fun.

“Yeah, sure, what the hell.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come?” Wess asked, clearly nervous about letting his beloved go to Earth without him. Monshikka kissed him. 

“You’d be bored to tears.”

“That is entirely beside the point. You’ve never been to Earth.”

“Neither have you,” said Arrowsmith as he checked to make sure Harley was properly packed. 

“I just don’t…” 

Monshikka silenced Wess with a kiss. “Humour me. I want to do this on my own.”

“How long will you be gone?” Wess asked.

“Probably overnight,” said Arrowsmith. “Large tattoos take time, and chances are Monshikka is not going to want to travel afterwards.”

Wess made a strangled little noise that conveyed so much more than words ever could. Monshikka held him tightly. 

“Please don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“No I won’t,” grumbled Wess. “I’ll whine until The Moonhound kills me.”

Monshikka kissed him repeatedly, then stepped away, smiling. “How do I look?”

Monshikka was wearing a pale grey bandana over his long hair, and Victorian-style tinted lenses to protect his delicate eyes. The rest was standard issue black t-shirt, jeans with leather chaps, boots and leather gloves. 

“Beautiful. Come back soon. I’ll hate being without you.”

Monshikka kissed him again, then got on Harley’s back behind Arrowsmith. Wess gazed at him with a mournful expression as they vanished, appearing silently on a tree-lined street amidst beautiful brightly-painted houses. The homes looked to be over a hundred years old, gloriously coloured in their Victorian hues. 

“Oh they’re so pretty!” said Monshikka. 

“Yeah,” said Arrowsmith. “Infamous loves these houses. We were gonna talk to Blackbird and The Moonhound about introducing the style to White Palace. Then I got sick and he…”

“I’ll talk to them,” said Monshikka softly. “What’s the style called?”

Arrowsmith swallowed, fighting down the rush of emotion. “Victorian Gingerbread.”

Monshikka smiled. “Charming name. All right. We will build him a gloriously lovely Victorian Gingerbread house of his very own for when he comes back.”

“Yeah,” said Arrowsmith softly, hearing his own voice become hoarse with emotion. 

He started up Harley, and began driving to the part of the city referred to as Kitsilano. 

“You’ve never been on my world before, have you?” asked Arrowsmith.

“No,” said Monshikka. “It looks a lot like Twin Lakes when we lived there before the Wells opened. Smells similar too. So! Where are we off to first? I think we have a couple hours before my appointment.”

“Tim Horton’s.”

“Who is he?”

Arrowsmith laughed. “He’s the man that The Moonhound has been shamelessly having an affair with.”

Monshikka immediately began indignant. “Does Blackbird know?”

“Yeah, Tim, Blackbird, and The Moonhound have had a few threesomes together. I watched.”

Arrowsmith grinned, sensing Monshikka had just gone from outraged to confused. Monshikka remained silent until they pulled into the parking lot of a small and very crowded shop. Then his pink eyes became enormous.

“This is from where you get those delectable little sugary morsels!”

“It is indeed. C’mon, let’s get you inside and make you a proper Canadian, eh?”

They went into the shop. Arrowsmith immediately guided Monshikka to a table before going to place their order. After all, fun was fun but a royal prince and the Keeper of the Forbidden Library stood in line for no one. Arrowsmith returned after a few minutes with their order. 

“All right, everything a growing Canadian hockey player needs – Tim Bits, poutine…”

“What’s poutine?”

Arrowsmith served him a plate of something. “French fries covered in gravy and cheese curds.”

Monshikka stared at his plate. “Does Infamous eat this?”

“Infamous not only eats it, he makes it.”

Monshikka tried a small, tentative bite, chewing speculatively.

“What’s the verdict?” asked Arrowsmith.

“Not bad for peasant food.”

“Yeah well don’t say that out loud if you don’t wanna get hit with a hockey stick. Next we get you drinking beer.”

“Oh Arrowsmith you know I don’t care for beer.” Monshikka daintily ate his poutine. “So where are we off to next?”

“I thought we would drop in on Rikke and Leslie and do some shopping.”

Monshikka perked up. Rikke and Leslie had been friends with Arrowsmith for around six years. They had met Infamous on a number of occasions as well, and had in fact been to Dargoth. They were not quite ready to part with their friends on their home world, but Arrowsmith strongly suspected that one day they would come to Dargoth. Personally, he couldn’t wait.

They finished eating, then drove further into Kitsilano where there was a “rustic” shop full of incredibly expensive clothes. Arrowsmith would never have been able to afford to shop there if he hadn’t married the Master Thief, and balked at the prices anyway. But they did have some glorious clothes, and a tiny part of Arrowsmith deep down inside loved playing dress-up.

He would rather shoot himself in the bladder with a hand-cannon than admit it, of course. But he did.

“Johnny!” squealed Leslie as he walked into the shop. She was short and bone thin, with blue dyed hair, multiple piercings, and a spiked leather collar around her neck. Her boots looked like she had rolled Sid Vicious’ corpse for them, and as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her spiked wrist band stabbed him. 

“Hey Leslie!” he said as he returned the hug. “How are you?”

“Oh fabulous! Where’s that adorable little hubby of yours?” She looked around for Infamous.

“He’s off doing important quest-type stuff for the Temple,” said Arrowsmith. He hated lying to her, but if he told her how sick he was and with what, she’d have a fit. “How’s Rikke?”

A second woman popped up from behind a set of shelves holding boots. “I’m in the bad sub box.”

“Uh-oh, what did you do?”

Rikke looked properly chagrinned. Like Leslie she was vegan-skinny, with a green Mohawk and a spectacular tattoo of sakura blossoms down her left arm. 

“I kinda got a DUI the other night.”

“VERY. BAD. SUB!” enunciated Leslie.

“How far over were you?” asked Arrowsmith.

“I blew .06. Limit in BC is .05. So no cookie for me. And my Mistress says I now have to do inventory all on my own.”

Rikke blew a raspberry at her lover, who returned it. 

“I love seeing marital issues resolve maturely,” said Arrowsmith. He looked to Leslie. “So you’re not going to flog her?”

“No! The silly bitch likes it too much. I’ll save that for when she’s behaving.” Leslie perked up as she saw the man come to stand close to Arrowsmith, and she immediately switched to Dargothian. It seemed Leslie was leaning more and more towards the idea of living on Dargoth.

“Your Majesty! Welcome to my humble store!”

Monshikka slipped his arms around one of Arrowsmith’s; the universal Dargothian gesture of ‘I’m nervous.’ Arrowsmith smiled at him. 

“Monshikka’s never been here before. He’s feeling a little shy. Hey we’re gonna be in town for the night, do you think you can let Rikke out of the Bad Sub Box long enough to come up to our hotel room for drinks?”

Leslie looked to Rikke, who dropped down into a pose like that of a begging puppy.

“I dunno,” said Leslie. “She was awful naughty…”

“I’ll make cherry macaroons,” offered Rikke.

“Y’know I was just thinking the Bad Sub Box is probably too hot for this time of year,” said Leslie. “But you still have to do inventory.”

Rikke shrugged. Arrowsmith felt Monshikka slowly pull away, becoming interested in some items on the shelf. Arrowsmith and Leslie watched him go.

“So why is the Ice Prince here?” asked Leslie.

“He’s getting a back tattoo. Not a terribly big one, but he has no idea what he’s in for. Back pieces hurt.”

“What’s he getting?”

“Symbol of the Creator, to match Wess’ symbol of Shallougha.”

Leslie smiled. “Boy they’re really stuck on each other, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.” Arrowsmith grinned. “It’s so cute. I don’t tell them that, of course, but… yeah. Very cute.”

“It’s gonna look fabulous on that white skin,” said Leslie. “The colours will really saturate.”

Arrowsmith coughed suddenly, yanking a cloth out of his pocket and covering his mouth. There was blood, but only a faint trace. He looked to Monshikka.

“I’m fine,” he croaked weakly.

Monshikka rolled his eyes and resumed shopping. Leslie stared in horror at the cloth.

“Johnny, what the hell?”

“It’s an old injury, from before I met you. It acts up sometimes.”

“And makes you cough blood?”

“It’s a Dargothian thing. Look it’s under control.”

“Johnny…”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” she said uncertainly. 

Monshikka carefully lifted a sweater from a shelf – green cable knit, and softer than bunnies. “This would look so good on Wess.”

“He has a dozen more like it,” said Arrowsmith, wiping the blood from his lips and putting the cloth away. 

“Still going through the 250-Mile-House student/intellectual phase, is he?” asked Leslie.

“It’s not really a phase,” said Arrowsmith. “It’s kinda who he is. Eternal student, seeker, philosopher, with his cute little glasses and sweaters and obscure books of weird crap that no one’s ever heard of…” Arrowsmith sighed heavily, letting his head fall back. “Oh gods, Wess is a hipster.”

Monshikka walked over to Arrowsmith and handed him the sweater. “I like this one. What do you recommend?”

“Something NOT green or cable-knit.”

“He does tend to be rather set in his apparel,” said Monshikka. 

“I’ve honestly never seen him in anything other than a sweater and a ponytail the entire time we’ve known him. And we both know how long that is.” 

Rikke came to Monshikka’s side and took his hand. “Come on, we’ll see if we can’t find something to spice up Wess’ look.”

She and Monshikka went to the far side of the store, leaving Arrowsmith and Leslie alone.

“Your Dargothian is really good,” he said.

“Thanks. Rikke and I have been talking about going there one day but we’re just not ready. We have too much here we would hate to leave.” She gazed at Arrowsmith with blue eyes. “How did you do it?”

“Well it was a little different for me. I fell into the world and by the time I learned I could leave… I was in love.”

Leslie smiled at him. “You’re such a moosh.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But I also didn’t have as much going on in my life as you do. I was just sort of drifting and looking for answers. You’ve got a shop and a condo and Rikke and you teach classes in traditional weaving…”

“Yeah,” agreed Leslie. “That does make it a lot harder to go. That and I have some friends here I really don’t think I can leave.”

“Dargoth is not going anywhere. When you’re ready to go, or even if you never are.”

“I just feel like if I don’t go, I’ll be missing something that almost no one ever gets to experience.”

“Just don’t rush yourself,” said Arrowsmith. “Try it out for a few weeks. It’s really not for everybody. Just stay away from the wolf warriors. They bite.”

“Ooh I like a little biting.”

“Yes well trust me, there is a huge difference between sexual nibbling and having your heart eaten out of your chest cavity while you are alive to appreciate it.”

Leslie stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Remember that time you met The Moonhound? You said she smelled a bit like carrion? Yeah. Not an accident.”

“Eyew. So uh… what would happen if she ate me?”

“Considering she’s the Queen and Lord High General of the Armies? Not a damned thing. People would just assume you got what you asked for.”

Leslie shrugged. “Well it wouldn’t be the first time.”

The bell over the shop door rang, and Leslie looked in the direction of the sound. She rolled her eyes, then buried her face in Arrowsmith’s jacket. 

“Hide me,” she said against his chest. 

“All right. Why?”

“That guy who just came in the door is known widely in the BDSM community of which I am part as Donny the Dipshit Dom.”

“Let me guess,” said Arrowsmith. “Everything he knows about BDSM he learned from a porno.”

“That or a really messed up episode of Dora the Explorer. He comes in here all the time, and spends next to nothing, he just cruises my shelves for…. Crap.”

Leslie raised her head and looked in the direction of Monshikka. Arrowsmith did as well, and saw a skinny, weedy man in what could only be called fetish wear heading for the Keeper of the Forbidden Library. Rikke was trying to convince Monshikka needed to get Wess some leather pants. 

“Should we save him?” asked Leslie.

“Who? Monshikka or Donny? If Donny lays a hand on him…. Well we should really have popcorn.”

They watched as Donny came up behind Monshikka and grabbed a handful of his long white hair, yanking his head back. Donny said something in Monshikka’s ear, and whatever it was, Monshikka did not approve. Rikke dove out of the way as Monshikka whirled around, grabbed two fistfuls of Donny’s hair and yanked his head down to ram his face into his knee. Three smacks later Donny was on the floor, and Monshikka kicked him in the guts. As Donny writhed and gasped, his nose now a misshapen blob, Monshikka stepped back to scream at him in a heavily accented voice.

“You DARE touch ME you miserable little roach?! Do you KNOW who I AM?!”

Donny squeaked. Arrowsmith had a funny feeling Monshikka was about to go for blood, or rather more blood, and intervened.

“That’s all right, your Highness, don’t kill the lowly maggot, they frown on that here.”

“He touched me!” Monshikka was so outraged he almost screeched. 

“Yes and he’s paying for it,” said Arrowsmith, gently drawing Monshikka into his arms and guiding him away from Donny. 

“He said he was going to make me beg to suck his…! To me!”

Donny began weakly dragging himself to his knees, clearly hurting. He staggered to his feet, and turned to look at Monshikka.

“Who are you?” he asked weakly, clearly confused that his come-on had gained him such abuse. Monshikka went rigid in Arrowsmith’s arms.

“It spoke to me.”

“It’s just a maggot,” said Arrowsmith. “Ignore it.”

“It TOUCHED me and it SPOKE to me.”

“Just let it go,” said Arrowsmith.

Donny stared at the pair. “Hey man, what is wrong with you?!”

Arrowsmith gave into temptation and let Monshikka go. He had absolutely no idea where the exceptionally large dagger manifested from, and if he had known Monshikka had it, he never would have released him. Donny’s eyes became enormous as he abruptly made acquaintances with his own mortality. Rikke, Leslie and Arrowsmith all dove for the enraged royal as Donny fled for his life, Monshikka hot on his heels. 

They managed to catch Monshikka after only a half block, or rather, Rikke and Leslie did. Arrowsmith only made it as far as the shop door before he stopped to cough. Minutes later, the two women dragged the enraged prince back into the shop. As Arrowsmith and Leslie got Monshikka calmed down, Rikke locked the door and slapped up a “Back in 15 minutes!” sign.

“Who taught him to fight like that?” asked Leslie.

“The Moonhound. She’s not big on non-lethal combat. And I think Misty helped with the hidden dagger thing.”

“IT ACTUALLY DARED TO SPEAK TO ME!”

Arrowsmith drew him close for a cuddle. “There, there, the nasty plebeian has gone away, you’re all right now.”

“Arrowsmith I swear to the Creator I am going to slap your face right off your skull in a moment.”

Leslie patted Monshikka’s shoulder. “I’ll make tea while Rikke gets the blood out of the carpet.”

Arrowsmith stayed close to Monshikka, trying to get him calm. Eventually Monshikka realized his pale grey leather pants had a near-perfect impression of Donny’s face on the knee in blood.

“I really liked these,” moaned Monshikka. 

“It’s okay,” said Arrowsmith. “We’ll take them home, someone will know how to get blood out of leather.” He kissed his friend’s brow. “Come on, we’ll let Rikke play dress-up, she’s good at it. While you’re doing that, I’ll drive to the hotel and check in.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wess loses his cool, and Arrowsmith and Monshikka are in a bit of a mess.

Illyne arguably had one of the easiest jobs of all the Temple Thieves; her duty was to walk around the palace at varying times and check to make certain the Court were well. She was too young to remember the time over twenty years ago when evil had crept into their home, but she knew that her duties had emerged from then. So at irregular intervals, she would walk the halls that lead past the quarters of the Court. It was a bit thrilling, the quick glimpses into their private lives. The first room she passed belonged to the Master Thief and the Seer. But the Seer was visiting friends and the Master Thief was... gone. She knew not where. Lord Sylvannamyth's room was empty also. She didn't like thinking about why that may be.

The next room belonged to the Court Assassin and the Bard. Well they were fine, they were munching snacks and going through books, discussing wine making ingredients. So far so good. On to the King and Queen, what were they up to? 

She peered into their chamber, and saw the Queen flat on her back on the bed howling with laughter, The king, who looked even smaller and more frail these days than usual, was standing, staring at...what was that thing? Was that...? It looked like an enormous wheel of cheese.

"The spell was not supposed to work this way!" he declared, as The Moonhound fell off the bed. "I do wish you'd stop laughing."

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT! IT'S THE MOST EPIC FAILURE IN THE HISTORY OF FAILURE!"

"It's not that bad," he grumped. Meanwhile the huge wheel of cheese was...was it standing up?!

"Where am I?" asked the cheese. 

Blackbird sighed. "Look, it was supposed to detect sentience in things, not create it."

"I LOVE IT! YOU TAUGHT A CHEESE TO THINK!"

"I would like to know what's going on," said the cheese.

“THIS IS BETTER THAN THE SPELL THAT MADE ALL THE TREES ROT!”

"I'm sorry," said Blackbird. "It seems I have accidentally brought you to life. Let me assure you that we will do our best to care for you."

"I don't understand," it said. "I'm very confused."

The Moonhound continued to cackle with hilarity. Blackbird began trying to explain to the cheese what had happened. Illyne put a hand over her mouth to stifle any giggles and continued on her way to the last room - The Keeper of the Library and the Well Guardian.

She reached the room, and peered in. Monshikka was not there, of course, he was off with the Seer. But the Well Guardian was. He was seated on the floor, wearing only a pair of pajama pants. His long brown hair was loose, spilling down his back, partially obscuring his tattoo of an upraised sword wound with the trailing battlefield roses. He had a book in his hands, and beside him on the floor was a half-filled glass of wine. 

Oh he was so beautiful. How could a man be so beautiful? Sometimes she fantasized about flirting with him. Sometimes her fantasies involved him actually flirting back. Then she thought about how many pieces she would end up in if the prince saw. Oh not literal ones, of course, but...yeah. She was not fond of public humiliation, and she was quite certain that Wess would not ride to her rescue if Monshikka saw some temple thief trying to woo his husband. 

But oooohhhh.... there were no laws against fantasizing.

She watched for a few more wistful moments, then began making her way to the main temple to make her report and let it be known the Court were fine. Except for a slight incident involving a cheese.

Illyne was following the well-worn tunnels back to the temple, when suddenly she stopped, and an intense feeling of dread washed over her. She drew her dagger and looked around, seeing nothing. But something was there; she could almost smell it. Then she heard a voice whisper in her ear.

"He could be yours."

That was enough for her. Illyne ran as fast as she was able for the Temple, tearing into the main chamber, where the foxkeepers were feeding the veritable sea of foxes. 

"Something is in the halls," she said. "It spoke in my ear. I did not see it, but it spoke to me."

One of the keepers went deeper into the temple, returning with eight older and more experienced thieves.

"Show us," said the oldest man. Dutifully, Illyne led the group to the hall, where they searched for the source of the whispering. 

Wess, in the meantime, had finished his wine, put aside his book, and slipped comfortably into his bed. He could faintly hear the thieves going about their business, and found it comforting. In his current incarnation, Wess found he did not much care for sleeping in dark, silent, rooms. He slept better with another body beside him, and faint light nearby. The parents who bore and raised him in this life had not seen the point in humouring little boys with night-lights. They had also made their home near the imposing vastness of the Gnome Swamp. Very few gnomes actually lived in the swamp, but it was utterly infested with toad-fae. They were hideous little parasitic monsters, fond of drinking blood. Wess had woken up one night covered in them, all busily gnawing holes in his skin, smaller ones trying to burrow into his flesh, and all drinking his blood. 

He had never quite recovered from that. He still had a few small scars on his arms from their sharp little teeth.

Wess opened one eye to glance around for any small, fast-moving creatures, but saw none. A lantern sat on a desk, wick turned low, providing just enough light for security. He closed his eye, and began sinking into sleep. The world became soft and grey, blurred and peaceful. He was too sleepy to move as the door opened and Kiri wandered in, dragging a stuffed toy with him. The little boy climbed onto his bed and flopped down face first onto the mattress, sighing quietly.

"What are you doing here?" Wess managed to ask, his voice the barest of whispers.

"I'm sad," said the little boy.

"Your papas will be home soon enough."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?" asked Wess. 

The child flipped onto his back. "Because I've only been dead a little while and no one visits my grave. They don't care."

Wess sat up abruptly, looking around. Kiri was not there. It was just a horrible dream...

Then he saw an enormous swarm of toad-fae covering the walls with their lumpy brownish-green bodies, flung back the covers and leap out of bed, fleeing for Misty's room. He darted inside and slammed the door behind himself.

"I am staying here tonight and you can't stop me!"

Misty and Blue were both still sitting together, going through books. They stared at Wess wide eyed.

"All right," said Misty. "Um.... why?"

"Because first Kiri comes into my room to tell me he's dead and then the walls are covered in toad-fae and I wasn't even drinking rose wine AND I'M NOT GOING BACK TO MY ROOM AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME."

They watched him walk over to the bed and flop face down onto its surface. Misty and Blue looked at each other. Then Blue spoke to Misty, affecting a very polished Kiriannan accent.

"It would seem the High Priest has left his ice-custard out in the sun."

Misty chuckled, and looked to Wess. "Look, I don't have an explanation for Kiri, other than he's three, but there are no toad-fae out here, it's too dry for them. They need swamps and marshes."

From inside the walls, somebody asked; "What are these things running all over? They're ugly. Hey they bite! What are these?"

"I don't know," said a second voice. "They look a bit like what you'd get if a toad and a fairy had a baby."

Wess slowly raised his head and looked at the pair, curling his lip. When he spoke, it was with the same accent.

"My ice-custard is just fine, thank you."

Misty blinked. “Why are there toad-fae here? It’s too dry, they need marshland to live.”

“I do not know but trust me, there were at least three hundred of them all over my wall, and… AH!”

Several toad-fae scuttled under the door. They were brownish-green lump-like creatures, with stunted wings only suitable for long hops or short flights. They immediately began scuttling toward the warm sources of blood before them. Misty picked up a piece of firewood and began crushing them as Blue turned into her unicorn form and began smashing their bodies into broken blobs on the floor. Wess leapt off the bed and ran for the glass doors that led to the balcony. He threw them open, ran outside and leapt from the balcony railing, shifting into dragonhawk form and flying away. 

“And just where does he thing he’s going?” asked Blue.

“He has a plan,” said Misty. “Of…some sort. I hope. He… DUCK!”

Blue and Misty leapt out of the way as three dragonhawks flew in through the window and began joyfully gobbling down the fae. Wess himself perched outside on the stone rail as the trio of wild dragonhawks feasted.

“I hate those things,” said Wess. 

“Well you seem to have come up with a suitable solution,” said Misty, exiting the room with Blue to stand by Wess. “But where did they come from? They don’t migrate. They have never been seen in this area before. And who knew you were afraid of them?”

Wess shook his head. “No one other than the parents I have in this life. There was no need to mention it because in Chye Vale and Two-Fifty-Mile-House there was no chance of running into toad-fae, or so I thought. I was certain they would not be here, either.”

“It could just be a freak incident,” said Blue. “Like that time all the little song dragons got confused in a storm and their migration ended up in Kirianna instead of the White Plains.”

“It could be,” agreed Wess. “But I am not convinced. Song dragons migrate. Toad-fae do not. Therefore a storm could not blow them off course. I am going to visit my parents. I will be back as soon as I may.”

Wess spread his wings, which rang faintly in the evening breeze. The wind picked him up, and he began flying south, an eerie white and gold shadow against the black sky. They watched him go, then Blue looked to Misty.

“So where do we sleep tonight?”

“First we need to tell Blackbird and The Moonhound what’s happening. Then I think we should head down to the inn for the night.”

The pair watched the dragonhawks joyfully pouncing on toad-fae; a veritable swirling river of lethal wing-blades, head-blades, and tail-blades. 

“You wait here,” said Misty. “I’ll climb down the outside wall.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Wess allowed the wind to push him to his destination, reaching the tiny village just outside the Gnome Swamp by mid-morning. Ordinarily Wess would do his best to appear as a simple mortal, but his long flight had given him time to think. Toad-fey were of no real consequence to adults, but to very small children they could spell death. They did not travel, they did not migrate, and could only fly a mile or two at best. Therefore, somebody brought them into the palace, and he meant to find out who and why.

Wess knew the routines of his home village well. At this time of day, the spear-fishers and reed-cutters would have returned from the swamp, since the water would be warm enough for things like toad-fey to be active. Rock-skipper lizards, too, would be active; Arrowsmith’s personal nemesis. They were not intentionally dangerous, but if stepped on could deal a lethal sting from a barb on their tail. So the reeders and the fishers would be at the far side of the village; cleaning fish and hanging up the reeds to dry. They all looked up as a white and gold dragonhawk dropped down from the sky, gasping as it turned into a man they knew quite well; a man they had watched grow up in their village. He was clad in pyjama pants and nothing else, but with a flick of his left hand a great sword appeared, glowing with an intense fire the colour of the battlefield rose. His long brown hair spilled into his face, and he looked like an intensely angry god whom some lower life form had roused from his sleep. Which was not terribly far from the truth.

There was a profound silence as the villagers stared at one of their own, whom had returned to them in a far different state than when he left.

“Wess?” said a very large young man, holding an enormous eel.

Wess grinned at him, brown hair hanging in his face. “THAT WOULD BE WESSELIK DEVARON SILVERBIRD, CALLED SECOND TO STAND BY THE SIDE OF HERCALDOLOFF, THANK YOU! NOW WHO SENT A FEW LARGE CRATES OF TOAD-FAE TO THE PALACE HOME OF THE WIZARD-KING?!”

“Oops,” said a small boy. Wess pointed the tip of his flaming sword at the child. 

“HELLO, BENVI! YOU AND I ARE GOING TO HAVE A TALK.”

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“I MAKE NO PROMISES.” Wess lowered his sword and stalked over to the child, staring down at him. “Explain. Now. Everything.”

Benvi spilled his guts. “It wasn’t just me! This rich kid showed up in a gold carriage pulled by golden horses and offered us enough money for a whole year’s worth of work, just for toad-fae! We tried to tell him that they taste awful and make terrible pets, but he said he didn’t care, he wanted as many as we could catch! Well we sure didn’t want them, so we set up some traps and caught punds-worth!!”

“I helped with bait!” said a slightly older child. She gleefully held up her small hands, which were covered in cuts. Wess was appalled.

“Verisy!”

“Ah I didn’t cut them on purpose, I grabbed hold of some reeds except one of the reeds was really a sword-flower.” She giggled. 

“So after you caught all these toad-fae, what happened to them?”

A teen boy stepped forward, named Neyla. “We loaded them into his cart, he paid us the money, and he went on his way. It was strange, but… well you know how things are here! There’s just never quite enough for anything! Who cares about a few toad-fae? We didn’t think he would take them to the palace and set them free in the king’s house!”

“Well he did,” said Wess, “and as my parents can confirm, they are not my favourite creatures. What did this child look like?”

“Tall, and pale, with dark-ringed eyes, as if he had not slept in weeks,” said Neyla. “Or worse. Some of us thought he looked…. Dead. He wasn’t natural. And after he left, we took the chest of gold to the gathering hall to share it out, but…it was now a box of buttons. There was no gold.”

“We did all that work for nothing!” said Verisy. 

“All right,” said Wess quietly. “I’ll send a few things here to make life easier, but the next time someone who looks as if they may be dead offers you a huge amount of money for destructive blood-thirsty little monsters, I would appreciate it if you said ‘no’. All right?”

The villagers nodded, just as his mother came around the corner. She stared at her baby boy. 

“Wess? What are you doing here…armed with that sword? Are… are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Omam. Now, where’s Bopai? I wanna have a word with you two about little boys needing their night lights…”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Arrowsmith and Monshikka had a wonderful day. Monshikka got the outline for his tattoo done, as well as some shadowing and detail. Then they went to the hotel with Leslie and Rikke for a night of drinking and a few rounds of terrible board games. They passed out around two in the morning, waking up just before check-out time. They had breakfast with Leslie and Rikke, then climbed aboard Harley and had a most enjoyable and leisurely drive back to the closet liminal, which was just beyond the town of Hope.

There were many jokes about the liminal being beyond Hope. 

Arrowsmith pulled to the side of the road in the peaceful, rural area, waiting until there were no vehicles in sight before turning to the liminal. He then drove down to the area and reached into his pocket, pulling out a crystal of a deep purple colour. He waited for the liminal to reveal itself. And waited. And waited. Aaannnd waited.

“Are we in the right area?” asked Monshikka.

“This is it,” Arrowsmith assured him. “Infamous and I use this one all the time, because to use the one over the Fraser River, you have to leap off a cliff.”

“I would prefer not to do that.”

“As would I. But…where is the liminal? Did it shift?”

Arrowsmith got off Harley and went to one of the bike’s saddlebags, taking out a device that many would mistake at first glance to be a tablet or smart phone. It was in fact an enchanted piece of black glass that would show where the liminals were. Arrowsmith began using it to scan the area for a liminal he knew should be there. Only it wasn’t. 

The wind began to pick up and grow cooler. Monshikka glanced to the sky, waiting for Arrowsmith to find the liminal. 

“It’s not here,” said Arrowsmith. “It must have shifted away. Time to use a travel crystal, I guess.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yeah Infamous and I each carry a red one on a chain that hooks into a loop in our pockets so it doesn’t…fall…out.” Arrowsmith searched all of his pockets, then pulled out a cell phone and called a number. After a few rings, Leslie answered.

“Hey Johnny, what’s up?”

“Did I happen to leave my travel crystal at your place?”

Leslie was serious at once. “Let me look, I’ll ask Rikke to call the hotel. Just hang on, I’ll call you back.”

Arrowsmith put the phone back in his pocket, then seated himself on Harley once more. He glanced over his shoulder at Monshikka. 

“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “At the very least we will just have to go further along the highway to find the next liminal.”

Monshikka nodded, but was clearly worried. He flinched as a fat drop of rain struck his cheek. A after a few minutes, Leslie called back.

“It’s not here Johnny. Any idea where you may have left it?”

“Right now I’m starting to think it’s in my bedside table in White Palace.”

“Bummer. Look, if you need to, you and His Royal Highness can come crash here for a while, okay? I mean we know the Court will miss you. If not we can sell you both on eBay.”

“Thank you, that’s very comforting. If you do not hear from us tomorrow morning, assume we made it home.”

“Okay Johnny, you two stay safe.”

“We will. Take care.” Arrowsmith put the phone back in his pocket. “Okay there is another one a little further up the number five highway, let’s just keep going…”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They walked into the small motel room. Arrowsmith would have preferred something a little finer, but he didn’t think Monshikka could take any more travel at this point; the Ice-Prince of White Palace was clearly badly shaken. As Monshikka closed the door behind himself, Arrowsmith walked over to him and gathered him into his arms, trying to comfort him. Monshikka was nearly in tears.

“Where did the liminals go?” he asked, his voice small and child-like.

“I don’t know,” said Arrowsmith, gently rubbing his back. “But we’ll be okay. I’ll look after you.”

“You can barely look after yourself. Arrowsmith we can’t stay here, I can feel the slow decay of this world, it’s dying. Can’t you feel it?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I can feel it. But you need to calm down. We’ll get home. It’s not like no one is going to miss us, especially not Wess. I’ve got a little battlefield rose resin, if worst comes to worst I can use it to enter the dream world and let them know we need help. Don’t you have a transport crystal?”

Arrowsmith stepped back to allow Monshikka to reach down his shirt and draw out a silver chain with a crystal on it. It was ice-blue, with threads of silver in it, not green or red like the others.

“I’ve never seen one like that before,” said Arrowsmith.

“It’s very old,” said Monshikka. “This one was actually crafted by Hercandoloff in the first life when we were all idealistic university students. It’s what you would call a prototype.”

Arrowsmith took the crystal between his fingers and examined it. “So little more than enchanted jewellery. Would it get us home?”

“It would get one of us home,” said Monshikka. “Not two.”

“Not even if we held hands? The green ones let us do that.”

Monshikka shook his head. “No, as I said, this is a prototype, and not terribly accurate. According to The Moonhound, the only time it worked for two people was when she and Blackbird almost got caught fornicating like bunnies in the university library. So we would have to be actively coupling for both of us to get home.”

Arrowsmith smiled. “Not that it isn’t a very charming idea, my prince, but your husband would kill me.”

“I can’t see Infamous being terribly happy, either.” Monshikka cocked his head to one side, white hair falling across his face, his remaining red eye full of curiosity. “Would you make love to me?”

“Monshikka most people would like a chance to make love to you. You’re beautiful. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just a very odd idea. I was a virgin so long that I just shut that aspect of myself out.”

Arrowsmith smiled, and released the crystal, letting it fall to dangle on its chain around Monshikka’s white throat. “Well I’d make love to you. But right now we have a problem. Namely where have the liminals gone?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” said Monshikka, walking to a chair and seating himself. “If the liminals are not there then maybe Blackbird…”

“Look… let’s just calm down and stop thinking of worst-case scenarios.”

Monshikka nodded, then looked out the window as there came a powerful boom of thunder, felt as much as heard. A massive semi-truck rolled by, shaking the entire room. Arrowsmith had a funny feeling that by the time they got home, Monshikka was going to be an utter nervous wreck.

“You’ll be okay,” said Arrowsmith softly.

He coughed suddenly, managing to cover his mouth in time. He then stared at the clots of blood and the red spray all over his arm.

“No,” said Monshikka, “I will not be. You are out of medication, the liminal is gone, and you will die and leave me here, in a truck-stop motel on a strange planet, where I will eventually be forced to marry someone named Hatchet in order to be fed and clothed because on this world I have absolutely no skills or status.”

“We’ve been in worse situations.” Arrowsmith grabbed up a handful of tissues from a box resting on a bedside table to cough into. More blood. “Besides. If I die then Leslie claims ownership of you.”

The thunder boomed once more, and Monshikka looked to be on the verge of tears.

“I’m such a bloody fool, Arrowsmith, this is all my fault…”

“It’s not,” said Arrowsmith firmly. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just a silly day-trip that got delayed. We’re fine. You got the start of the most gorgeous tattoo I have ever seen, Wess will love it, we’re gonna have dinner, maybe watch a little bad TV, have a bit of wine, get some sleep, and in the morning the liminal will be open and we can go home. Okay?”

There came a loud pounding at the door. “Vickie get out here!” slurred a loud drunken voice.

Arrowsmith walked over to the door and opened it, his face smeared with blood. “Vicki’s not here.”

“Bull shit! I saw you walk in here with a blonde!”

The man was drunk and dressed in filthy blue overalls with the name ‘Jake’ stitched on them. He was clearly drunk off his ass and looking for Vickie or a fight, whichever came first. Monshikka came to stand by Arrowsmith’s side.

“Oh great creation, what is that?”

“Apparently,” said Arrowsmith, “it is a Jake, and it is drunk.”

“Can we make it go away?”

“I’ll ask it,” said Arrowsmith. “Hey Jake? Vickie is not here. You have the wrong room, the only blonde here is the one standing beside me.”

“WHERE’S MY WIFE?!”

Arrowsmith closed the door and locked it, then turned to Monshikka as Jake continued to beat on the door. “I still say things are going to be fine.”

“And what will we say to Wess if we end up needing the crystal?”

“Hey Wess? Really funny thing happened on the way to the tattoo parlour…”

“Hilarious.”

“If we need the crystal then you go on ahead. There is no reason to start thinking up plots to bad pornos.” Arrowsmith coughed blood again. “Think about what you want for dinner. I’m going to go steam my lungs in the bath.”

“Oh I’m not sure I could eat, I’m positively ill.” Monshikka sat on the bed, and watched Arrowsmith stand in the bathroom and undress. Arrowsmith mused he’d been on Dargoth far too long; public nudity was ingrained into his nature by now. 

“How is anyone supposed to join you in that grimy little thimble?” asked Monshikka, referring to the bath tub.

“Well here on Earth most people bathe alone.”

“Alone? That’s ludicrous, how is anyone supposed to have a decent conversation by themselves in a tub the size of a hand-basin?”

“Well most people on Earth have a bath to get clean, it’s Dargothians who view it as conversation pit.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Monshikka flinched as Jake pounded once more on the door. 

“VICKIE GET YOUR WHORE ASS OUT HERE!” 

Monshikka rose to his feet, walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. As Jake opened his mouth to bellow something, Monshikka used the heel of his hand to smash Jake’s nose into a blob, kicked him in the stomach, then closed the door and locked it once more. Then he did a bit of bellowing of his own.

“I AM THE KEEPER OF THE FORBIDDEN LIBRARY, NOT VICKIE, AND I AM NOT AMUSED!”

“Come stand in the shower with me. We can discuss the pros and cons of Vickie’s choice of husband and life-style, and you can wash my back.”

“Oh delightful,” grumbled Monshikka. Then after a few moments, said “Let’s have pizza.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niri’s not dead, and Infamous tells a tale.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“I’m not dead!” declared Niri, squiggling and attempting to wave off the healer.

“I am!” said Kari, nodding sagely. “I’m dead! Wanna see?”

The child flopped onto the examination table, tongue lolling. 

“Better bury him, then,” said Misty.

“Nah just throw him out in the garden, let the scavengers have him,” said The Moonhound.

Kari sat up. “Well I’m not THAT dead, just a little dead.”

The Moonhound looked to Libby, who was holding the baby, Maradith. “Let me know if he gets deader.”

“I never had conversations like this before I came here,” said Libby. “I never had to explain to anyone I like bathing alone, either.”

Lady Seraph sighed and released Niri. “There’s nothing wrong with any of them. Wess had a terrible nightmare, nothing more.”

“Apart from the toad-fae,” said The Moonhound. “Those were not a dream.”

Wess himself walked into the room just then, looking agitated. "Has anyone seen Monshikka?"

"They're not back yet," said The Moonhound, as Lady Seraph tried to finish examining Niri. 

"It's just that they should have been back by now," said Wess.

"Well they are a little late," said The Moonhound. "But they had plans to visit some of Arrowsmith's friends and do some shopping, and basically violate a number of Dargothian laws, so it's not time to worry yet. And I am sure they have travel crystals. They're okay, Wess."

"I just don't like it when he's so far away, especially after losing him for five months."

"I know. But they'll be home soon. They've been gone...how long?"

"Two nights."

The Moonhound nodded. "If they are not back by tonight we will go looking for them."

Wess nodded, then quietly departed, feeling a worried knot in his stomach. Something about this was not right. But The Moonhound had a point; they had hardly reached the point where they needed to worry. It was not the first time one of Arrowsmith's overnight visits to his place of origin turned into two or three nights. But this was different. Arrowsmith was so sick, and there was really no way to predict the attacks...

And if he collapsed, Monshikka would take him home. Wess sighed quietly. He was worrying needlessly.

He entered the Forbidden Library, and went to the secret staircase leading down into the Archive. Trust Monshikka to find a way to have the most complete library in existence. He entered the archive, finding Misty, Blue, and four mycinocroft attempting to make some headway against the ocean of books. 

"How goes the battle?" he asked as he entered the room.

"We have discovered that there is indeed a floor in here," said Misty. "I can't wait to see more of it. Come look."

Misty rose to his feet and carefully walked over the piles of books to the small spot they had managed to clear. The stone of the floor appeared to be some sort of marble; black with swirls of intense blue. It was dotted with multi-coloured gemstones.

"We think it may form a map of some of the constellations," said Misty. "But who knows when we will be able to see much of it."

"To think this was all formed out of Monshikka's dreams," said Wess. "It's amazing."

He glanced out of the great windows, which now showed a winter scene. A lone woman in a pearl-grey gown, touched with hints of silver and purple, rode a gigantic creature that seemed to be a blending of bear and wolf. It was huge and heavily muscled, covered in shaggy grey and white fur.

"Does she see us?" asked Wess.

"No," said Misty. "We tried waving and calling, but she doesn't see us. She could even be just an image of someone passed. The seasons and times seem to change randomly, so she may not actually be there at all."

Wess watched the woman ride her wolf-bear into the woods and out of sight, then turned back to Misty again. 

"Well let's see if we can make any sort of a dent in this mess."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Thus far, the journey had been easy enough, and the company good. Infamous would have been enjoying himself if it were not for two details; one, getting the flower home to Arrowsmith, and two...

"If your husband is a seer then how did he not see you getting so far from home?"

Jaden.

"Do you see everything that is going to befall you?" asked Infamous.

"No, but I thought since he was older than I am, he would see more."

Jaden was giving Infamous a headache. "Why would he see more?"

"Well he's been doing it longer."

"I don't think it works that way," said Infamous dryly.

"But..."

"I've a riddle for you," said Infamous, desperate to stop the stream of questions, especially since Hamish and Raben clearly had no interest in doing so. Likely they were enjoying not having to answer for a change. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening?"

Jaden's eyes went large. "I don't know!"

For three blessed minutes, there was silence. Then Infamous began heartily regretting his ploy.

"Why would this thing change the manner in which it walks throughout the day? Is that to avoid predators or hunters? And if it is, are there not more efficient ways to do so? If it's used to walking on four legs then walking on two just seems inefficient, and if it goes into the water to swim then it's not walking at all it's swimming, so why could it not just swim instead of changing how many legs it has? Could it not just...?"

"What is the answer to the riddle?" asked Raben wearily.

"People," said Infamous, equally exhausted. "Babies crawl on all fours. Adults walk on two. The elderly use a stick to support themselves. Four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, three in the evening."

"A stick's not a leg," said Jaden. "Neither are hands." He gasped suddenly. "Do these poor people of whom you speak live only one day?!"

"I changed my mind about the quest," said Infamous. "Can we go find another thief now?"

Raben laughed. "Oh how often I have uttered similar words!"

"Well I'm curious!" said Jaden. "OH! Was the riddle about Lord Sly? He walks on two legs and four legs. I never saw him use a stick to walk, though. Can he swim?"

Infamous sighed heavily. "So, Sir Raben, tell me how far this place is."

"We will be travelling by the most direct route, so not more than a few days to get to the Valley of Giants. That is where the danger truly begins. We will have but the time between sunrise and sunset to travel through. Our mounts must be rested and in good health, because if we are in the valley past sunset, little, if anything, will save us."

"Tell us of these giants," said Infamous.

"They are older than the memories of those who live near the valley. Legend says a cruel king enslaved many thousands of people to carve them into the sandstone that forms both halves of the valley. Truly it is more of a chasm than valley. The giants appear as standing corpses draped in robes. They are gruesome enough on their own, but at night they wake up and begin to roam the valley. It is said that if they see you, they shall chase you forevermore, until you are dead. I do not know if that is true. To be honest, I have no desire to find out. We will camp for two days outside the valley to give our horses...and Lord Sly...a chance to rest and feed. For they shall have a very long and hard run ahead of them."

"And if one of our steeds falls?" asked Infamous.

"A swift death for the horse and we will do our best to carry the fallen," said Hamish. "We will pray no horse falls. But once we are through the valley, there will be other challenges. The road to this castle is not to be taken lightly."

"All for a child's toy," said Raben. "It was simply the best way to hide this object, as a child's plaything."

Infamous had a sudden sinking feeling. "Where is this toy supposed to be?"

"Buried with the child," said Hamish. "The Princess Aldima."

Sly looked over his shoulder at Infamous, who reached down to gently pet him. As a Temple Thief, Infamous was expressly forbidden to rob graves. But if he didn't rob the grave, he would never get home. He closed his eyes and reached out to Marakim, but growled quietly as Jaden began asking questions once again. He needed to think! He was already in enough trouble with Marakim, he couldn't just...

"I will forgive this one," said a soft voice in his mind. "Do not make a habit of it."

"Can you see me, yet?" whispered Infamous.

"Not yet. I am searching. Please be careful. You must come home."

"I know, Arrowsmith needs me."

"That he does, but I need you home. I have been given permission to return to Dargoth for five days. We are all waiting for you."

"Five days?" said Infamous. "Everybody is waiting...? Wait. Five days. What does that make me think of?"

"Wess and Monshikka are wedding in the full Kiriannan ceremony. I shall be there. The sooner you come home, the sooner we shall see each other. In the meantime, I shall keep looking. Now - I can hear you, and you can hear me. How is your vision?"

"Faint, and grainy. Like watching black ants on white paper try to make pictures. Wait! Did you do something? The world became a little more clear. Still ants-on-paper but they are better artists now."

"I believe I am getting closer to where you are. Be strong, Ilenya. I am searching."

"Thank you, grandfather. How is Arrowsmith?"

"He took Monshikka to Earth to get a tattoo. He is visiting with Leslie and Rikke, drinking too much German beer, and weeping for you. He is strong enough for now. But I shall go. I think your new friends are giving you funny looks."

Infamous raised his head and looked to the trio of knights. All were staring at him.

"Are you well?" asked Hamish warily.

Infamous smiled faintly. "I was talking to my grandfather."

"And who, pray tell, is your grandfather, that he can speak to you in your mind over vast distances?" asked Raben, equally wary.

"Is he bent and gnarled, with a great beard and few teeth, and smells like old cheese?" asked Jaden.

"Absolutely not!" said Infamous, indignant.

"Well my grandfather was."

"Not everybody's grandfather is bent and bearded and smells of cheese," said Infamous. "Certainly not mine!"

"Is he magical?"

Infamous thought about that, then answered Jaden quietly; "He was to all who knew him."

He reached down to stroke Sly's fur, trying not to cry. Hamish spoke up.

"You are full of tales, Lord Keeper. Yet you are reluctant to part with them!"

"I am reluctant to have you think me mad."

"Bit late for that," said Raben.

"In that case, I'll tell you of a young man who wanted to make the world a better place, and whose daughters took up his cause when he was passed..."

"Were they fair and dainty, with eyes like sapphires, awaiting their true love to save them?"

Infamous sighed quietly. "No. I honestly do not think there is a woman in my family's lineage who fits that description."

"But who helped them?"

"They saved themselves," said Infamous.

"Well that's not romantic."

"No but it is the reason I am sitting here on a gigantic wolf, answering questions."

"But I want a tale of a fragile maiden, rescued from peril by true love!"

"That would be our king and queen."

"She is fair and frail?"

"No, the king is. The queen eats raw meat and rolls in the entrails of the vanquished."

"You made that up!" said Jaden.

"I didn't, I swear, but if it makes you happy they are each quite capable of rescuing the other, should they need it. She is a warrior in command of the armies, and he is a mage who can make your skeleton leap out of your body, summon powerful creatures, and burn you to ash with a word. Yes, he is little and very delicate. And I would not face him for all the coffee in Palaklais."

"But...?"

"Jaden," said Infamous wearily, "I have a dark and horrible truth for you. Romance is rarely a delicate maiden in need of rescue by a great and brave knight. Sometimes it's just your husband having the courtesy to warn you he's been eating cabbage and onions again."

Sir Hamish rolled his eyes. Sir Raben laughed until he was red in the face and tears ran down his cheek. Jaden just pouted.

"Why do you tell me such things?"

"Because one day, Love will walk up to you and stare you in the face, and I would rather you understood that it does not always look the way you imagine, than have you toss away such a gift. Your maiden may not be dainty and fair. She might be a howling wild woman who eats the flesh of the fallen. She may be plump and bookish with too much hair that won't behave. She may be an impoverished reed-cutter from a village near the marshes. But if you are not willing to see these women for who they are, and spend all your days wishing for a fairy princess instead, you will die alone. John Arrowsmith may not be perfect, and he may have a few unspeakable habits, but he treats me with love, compassion, and understanding. I have no greater treasure than his love."

Jaden pondered that. For a few moments, there was peace. Then - 

"So when you wed one another, did you have a field of wildflowers surrounding you, and wild birds and butterflies, and the petals of blossoms fluttering through the air?"

"No," said Infamous quietly. "We made our vows on the steps of a collapsed temple, long ago. Just ourselves, under the stars. Now he may die without me, and I shall never see him again."

Sly made a quiet sound, and Infamous reached down to touch his shoulder. 

“I shall tell you a tale of a werewolf instead,” Infamous said, smiling. “One great and brave, with terrible manners…”

~*~*~*~*~*~

He didn’t remember his mother, which was just as well. She’d taken one look at him, lying there on the floor of the birthing den, utterly lacking a long muzzle for grabbing fish, a long tail to help him swim, and large erect ears to hear things coming for his fur, and promptly abandoned him. Nine hours later he was almost literally stumbled across by a very drunk student on his way home from a party. The baby had crawled out of the den, some instinct forcing it to seek help, and only avoided being stepped on by the narrowest of margins. The drunk promptly scooped him up.

“What in the name of all Creation are you doing out alone and naked at this hour? Where’s your mother?”

The student looked around, but saw no one. Wrapping the infant up in his jacket, he carried it home to the basement flat he shared with his friends.

“You won’t believe what I found,” he said, entering the room and closing the door behind himself.

“Is it contagious?” yawned the small man with the long black hair, studying a tome of magic.

“Well under the right circumstances, yes,” said the student. He drew out the baby and showed it to his friend. The man blinked at the child from behind a curtain of long, blue-black hair.

“That’s a baby,” said the man.

“Very good, Herc,” said the student.

“Wess! That’s a baby! A newborn! Where did you get it?!”

Wess carefully handed to the newborn to Hercandoloff and kissed the mage’s nose. “Hold this, I have to go milk a sheep before I sober up.”

“Yes of course you do,” said Hercandoloff. “Make sure it’s not a ram!”

“As if I would ever make that mistake again!”

Hercandoloff looked down at the infant as Wess left. He didn’t know a great deal about babies, but this one looked pretty damn new to him. What was even more disturbing was the way it seemed to be crying its tiny heart out without making a sound, apart from sniffles and hiccups. There was no voice. He looked at the ridge of baby-puff down his back, and suddenly the whole situation made sense. He was holding a half-mycinocroft child. His mother would have birthed him, taken one look at him, and left. No ears, no muzzle, no tail… by their standards he was doomed, so why bother? The fact that children such as these were born mute just made the abandonment all the more hideous; one could be screaming for all the gods above to help, and no one would hear.

“Poor little frozen bug,” said Hercandoloff. “Let’s get you into a warm bath while Wess looks for sheep’s milk. Why sheep’s milk, of all things? Ah well, one thing at a time. You’re frozen, and likely starving, too.”

He poured the baby a bath, and was distressed by the way it wriggled free from his grasp. The first time the baby escaped, Hercandoloff nearly had a coronary, but gradually he forced himself to understand that any good mycinocroft could swim right out of the womb. He watched the baby float like a funny pink alligator with a fuzzy back.

“Now what in the name of the Creator are we supposed to do with you?”

The baby had no answers; it simply blew bubbles. A few minutes later, the leggy student who had nearly stepped on him appeared.

“Why sheep’s milk?” asked Hercandoloff.

“Don’t ask me,” said Wess, carefully picking up the baby and offering it a warm bottle, which was greedily accepted. “The half-breeds live almost exclusively on sheep’s milk and meat throughout their lives, only rarely eating fish. They don’t know why it works that way, it just does. There we go, little one! Yes we were very hungry, weren’t we?”

“Wess…”

“Yes my gracious and benevolent soon-to-be wizard king?”

“Are you planning on keeping that?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I tripped over it, it’s mine.”

Hercandoloff leaned forward to peer into Wess’ eyes. “Are you high?”

“Of course I am, I’m a student of Shallougha, have you seen some of the stuff we spend our days working with? This morning I had a thirty minute conversation with my bookshelf regarding the teachings of Shallougha himself, and the bloody shelf won.”

Hercandoloff rolled his eyes. “You feed the baby, I’ll find something to dress him in.”

Soon the tiny newborn was fed, swaddled, and asleep in a wicker basket usually used for carrying vegetables from the garden. By now Snow Wolf was awake, as was Aldesing. The four stared at the baby.

“That is going to get very big, very fast,” said Aldesing.

“How fast?” asked Hercandoloff.

“By the time we’re all graduating, he will be killing his own sheep,” said Aldesing.

“You’re kidding me,” said Wess.

“I assure you I am not,” said Aldesing. “The royals in Kirianna keep them for that very reason. Half-mycinocroft grow up in a quarter of the time of a pure bred, and their shape-shifting abilities…”

“Wait wait wait,” said Hercandoloff. “Shape-shifting?”

“Yes,” said Aldesing. “They’re a natural lycanthrope, they can shift between human and wolf in an instant. My advice to you is to raise this little darling with love and kindness, because in four years he’s going to be a killing machine.”

“Yay,” said Hercandoloff, not looking pleased at this turn of events. “How dangerous is he going to be?”

“Well if we treat him gently then we have nothing to fear,” said Aldesing. “They’re somewhat mad but incredibly loyal when treated right.”

“So what you are saying,” said Snow Wolf, “is our darling Wess just brought home something we can raise to help guard our future Court.”

“If we are good to him,” said Aldesing. “At the very least we won’t need to spend money on security.”

***---***

So the nameless baby grew, living with the four students as their number slowly increased to nine, a young half-elf boy and himself included. His life mostly consisted of sleeping under Wess’ desk, swimming in anything that held more than a few gallons of water, and dragging home the occasional wild sheep.

“You’re going to have to teach him not to do that,” said Hercandoloff to Wess, as Athsfalia stood on the table, clutching a terrified lamb with one arm and trying to ward off a half-mycinocroft with a spatula.

“Why me?” asked Wess.

“Because you brought him home!”

“Fine,” said Wess. “What specifically would you like me to teach him to do?”

“To not drag home live screaming animals,” said Hercandoloff. “The police are so tired of being sent here that if we had a real emergency they’d think it was just the same old bullshit and go have a snack break.”

Wess looked over at the creature, named Growlie-pants until something better came to mind, and said “Hey! Enough of that!”

Growlie looked at Wess with eerie pale grey eyes, his long dark hair streaming across his face.

“Do not eat the half-elf, and stop dragging home live animals.”

The wolfish young man left the house, Athsfalia put the lamb in a shed until the rightful owner could be found, and the roommates went to bed. The next morning, they awoke to the broken and shattered remains of a young sheep on the kitchen floor, little more than bones and blood-soaked fleece.

“Well it’s not alive…” said Wess weakly.

“Wess, I have never said this to someone about another human being before,” said Hercandoloff. “TRAIN HIM!”

“I think you’re just trying to stifle his natural creativity,” said Wess.

“I know a newly-ordained priest of Shallougha who is going to need a new apartment if he doesn’t,” said Hercandoloff.

So Wess set about trying to teach Growlie some basic social skills; something he likely should have been working on before he had a full-grown lycanthrope on his hands. These included not biting strangers, not greeting people at the door by throwing himself at it in an attempt to tear them to pieces, and that shape-shifting in the dog park for the purposes of running amok was not a good way to make friends. Well… okay… it did have its high points, especially when the owner of the small dog in question turned out to be a real hottie. Wess took the small dog from Growlie’s jaws and gave it back to the owner.

“You need to train him,” said the young man in the tight leather pants, clutching his rather traumatized terrier to his chest.

“Wanna help me?” asked Wess, grinning and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The man’s eyes slipped down to the insignia of Shallougha hanging around Wess’ neck. “Ask me when you’re not high,” he snotted, and walked away.

Wess watched the man walk away. “Well that was rude,” he said. “Come on, Growlie, we have to…”

Sly uttered a growl that caused at least half of the people in the park to turn and look. Forty minutes later, as Wess and Growlie sat in a jail cell, Wess said “I appreciate you sticking up for my feelings, but knocking that guy to the ground and eating his dog is not socially acceptable.”

Growlie burped up a bone, just as Snow Wolf arrived with the bail money.

***---***

“That man needs psychological help,” said Hercandoloff later that evening, as he and Wess carefully examined an ancient tome that Wess had stolen.

“Are you kidding?” said Wess. “Do you know how much money he saves us in security?”

“He needs a name,” said Hercandoloff. “We can’t just keep calling him ‘Growlie-pants’. It’s disrespectful.”

“I propose ‘Sylvannamyth’. It’s elegant, strong…”

“And it means ‘Growlie-pants’ in Fae.”

“So who is going to know besides you, me, and any random fairies we happen across?”

Hercandoloff shrugged. “It will do for now I suppose. But he needs a proper name.”

Ilenya sat down on the carpet beside Sylvannamyth, stroking the stripe of soft fur that ran down his back. “Can I watch ‘Blood Manor’ before bed?”

“Is your homework done?” asked Wess.

“Yeeeesss…”

“Teeth brushed?” asked Hercandoloff.

“Noooo… I hate brushing my teeth! Toothpaste tastes horrible.”

“Listen to your dad,” said Wess.

“He’s not my dad,” said Ilenya. There was no malice to the remark, merely a statement of fact.

“Well he may have been in a previous life,” said Wess.

“You’re weird.”

Wess just shrugged. Ilenya got up to go brush his teeth, and Harry went to sit on the old couch and watch what Hercandoloff and Wess were doing. He seemed fascinated by the beautiful illuminations in the ancient book, and he and Wess had an impromptu language lesson while Hercandoloff went off to make sure his foster son was getting his teeth brushed. There came the sound of the front door opening, then closing, and the lock snapping into place.

“Blue?” queried Wess.

“No, Aldesing,” said a voice. “Is Blue not home?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Good,” muttered Aldesing softly, “maybe we can have a pleasant evening for once.”

Wess smiled but gave no indication he heard. Aldesing could be heard hanging up his coat, then walked downstairs into the finished basement, his ice-white beauty defiled by the hideous green and white striped uniform he wore which featured a dancing pickle.

“And how was your day today?” asked Wess.

“Terrible. I am not cut out for this sort of duty at all. Today I found myself asking people why they would like fries with that. Fortunately I will be spared the future indignity of stating that I work at Perky Pickle’s Burger Stand – I was fired.”

“I can’t see why, it’s a perfectly valid philosophical question. But what will you do now?”

Aldesing slipped out of his apron and hung it up, then pulled off the ugly paper hat and shook out his long white hair. “The local library is in need of assistants. I submitted an application, with luck I will get a call.”

Harry was carefully leafing through the beautiful book. He may not know how old it was, or what it represented, but he clearly knew how to handle it. Wess directed his attention to Aldesing.

“You know, you could just go home…”

“Yes and I could be rich again and comfortable again and leave the life of a wage-slave behind, and all I would have to do is marry some odious female I never met in real life and can scarcely tolerate on-line.”

“Why is your father so adamant you wed this woman?” asked Wess.

“Simple. I am a prince, she is a princess. We will marry and make babies and rule over Kirianna forever more. Except I can’t stand the nitwit, I don’t want to be King, and I am not entirely certain I like women. Something about them appeals to me not at all. I suspect at this rate I shall be a virgin a very long time.”

“No harm in being a virgin. Or not being one, for that matter.”

“Oh yes there is,” said Aldesing. “I have to be completely and utterly untouched on my wedding day. If I disgrace the throne with my behaviour, I and the person I defiled myself with can and will be thrown into a pit of spikes and briny sea-water full of happy little beach animals of the sort that like to burrow in human flesh. However when we actually die is left entirely up to us. Furthermore it is a requirement of my faith, and while I have little respect for my princely duties, I have infinitely more for the Creator. I should not even be wearing any colours apart from white, ice-blue, or pale silver. Certainly not this bloody pickle uniform.”

Aldesing departed for his room on the upper floor to change and wash the stink of grease-fryers off himself. Wess sighed, and looked down to the floor at Sylvannamyth, then at Harry.

“I find it very sad that I both speak the language, am a native to this land, and have all my mental faculties, and I still can’t figure this place out.”

Wess got up and walked to his room, hearing the soft pad of paws behind him. He walked into his room, dropping clothes, revealing an intricate tattoo down his back of a sword entwined with roses. Naked at last, he turned to his bed, and stared at the gigantic wolf-like creature lying on its back, feet splayed, tongue lolling. He sighed.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just sleep in the chair again.” He stood in the room, and sighed heavily, then walked to the closet to get a blanket.

“Want to know a secret, Growlie? I think Aldesing is absolutely amazing. I mean he’s smart and he’s beautiful and interested in so many things….” He took a blanket from the closet, then walked over to the old padded chair in which he intended to spend the night. “But what would a virgin prince of Kirianna want with some mangy little priest of Shallougha with not even enough standing to participate in the evening prayers?” He settled into the chair and pulled the blanket over himself. “Well, maybe someday. Night Growlie.”

***---***

“This was not one of our more brilliant ideas,” said Athsfalia.

They were travelling through the Palaklais Mountains, a place of great power and unpredictable magicks. It was also a place of very narrow pathways, suitable only for the animals that created them, and cave devils, one of which was currently lying in the middle of the path, staring at them.

“Why do we not walk over it?” asked Harry. “It is small, and seems passive.”

“Because they spit acid on you, wait for you to die, then drag you away to eat what’s left,” said Snow Wolf.

Harry slowly turned his head to look at her, Snow Wolf standing roughly twelve inches shorter than Harry. “Then why do you not kill it, oh great general?”

She gazed at him coldly. She was not afraid, but a cave devil was not by any means an easy opponent. One well-aimed shot of acid from the small creature could kill any of them, Harry included, but he had decided that if the “woman” wanted to play at being a “man”, then she had to deal with the beast. He of course would then dispatch it after she failed. Or at least, that was how he saw it.

Harry had made a full time job out of underestimating her.

“What are we going to do?” asked Hercandoloff, as the cave devil snored.

She sighed, then looked around. “Get behind it I suppose.”

Carefully, slowly, she climbed up a crumbling pile of rocks, and once on top, walked along the pile until she could get behind the devil. Once she was safely behind it, she bent down and picked it up. Since evolution had not prepared the creature for this possibility, it simply hung in her grasp, confused.

“Now what?” asked Wess.

Snow Wolf just smiled, using one hand to pet the puzzled beast as it dangled from her other arm like a cat. “I guess now I have to scout ahead.”

She walked away, holding the cave devil, heading down the narrow path.

“You’re not keeping that!” called Hercandoloff. “And if you do, you’re not having it on the bed!”

“Well aren’t you the forceful and commanding one,” said Wess.

“That’s easy for you to say,” said Hercandoloff, “it’s not your Tome of Arcania she hides when she’s annoyed.”

“Can I just reiterate my previous comment that this was not one of our more brilliant ideas?” said Athsfalia.

“For one who looks so much like a Viking,” said Harry, “you whine like a dog.”

“I was against keeping him,” said Wess, referring to Harry.

“I wanna go home,” said Blue.

“I want a pony,” said Athsfalia.

“I thought Blue was your pony,” said Wess.

Athsfalia managed to catch Blue’s fist before it connected with Wess’ skull. Hercandoloff sighed loudly.

“Can we all please pretend to be adults for a moment?”

Anything further he had to say was stopped by a coughing fit. Trembling and weak, he carefully sat down on a rock, looking as if the next cough might kill him. Snow Wolf was by his side in a moment, sans cave devil, pressing a cloth gently to his mouth to catch the blood.

“We need to stop,” said Wess.

“Thank you, I may possibly have come to the same conclusion,” said Snow Wolf. She glanced to Athsfalia. “We’re not far from the valley we saw on the map, even walking slowly we can get there before nightfall. Some of us can go on ahead and get camp ready, and someone else can stay here with Herc until we’re set up.”

Ilenya, Harry and Sylvannamyth stayed behind with Hercandoloff, while Snow Wolf went on ahead with Athsfalia, Aldesing, Wess and Blue. Once they were out of sight, Harry climbed onto the same pile of rocks that Snow Wolf had, looking around for anything they needed to be aware of. Sly was in his wolf form, sniffing for anything that might be tasty. Ilenya sat down beside his adopted father, glancing occasionally at Harry.

“Why doesn’t Wess like Harry?” the boy asked.

“I think it has a lot to do with Harry’s stealing Wess’ sacred wine.”

“Apart from that.”

Hercandoloff cast a glance at Harry. The exceptionally tall man stood upon the rock pile, the wind in his long hair, his golden-brown eyes studying the landscape. He had long legs and broad shoulders, slim hips and a back that just invited the hand to touch. With his mouth shut, Harry was a damned fine-looking man. Hercandoloff leaned down to whisper in Ilenya’s ear.

“You’re only eleven. He is far too old for you.”

The boy blushed vivid purple, but said nothing. Hercandoloff put an arm around him, hugging the boy.

“Just take your time and grow up. Don’t be in a rush to chase things that will still be there when you are stronger and know better what you want.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me when I’m older?” asked Ilenya.

“Child of mine, if he likes you at your current age, I’m going to have Snow Wolf rip his heart out and feed it to him.”

Ilenya rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I mean what if he meets someone and falls in love? Then even when I’m grown up, he won’t like me.”

“Sadly, that’s a real possibility,” said Hercandoloff. “That happens to everyone, not just kids. Sometimes you fall in love and it’s all for naught. You give your heart away to someone who doesn’t feel the same way, or just uses your feelings to make you do what he wants, or just makes fun.”

“Can’t you use magic to make me grow up and make Harry like me?”

“No.”

“But if…”

“NO. Now behave or I’ll feed you to that ferocious wolf there.”

Sly was rolling around on the ground, shoving his muzzle into the dirt and groaning with pleasure. Ilenya rolled his eyes.

“What’s the good of having a wizard for a father if you can’t get what you want when you want it?”

“Ilenya, I am a wizard, and even I can’t get what I want when I want it. Now run back to that stream we saw a little while back and get some water. I’ll start a fire, and we can have tea.” He looked to the tall figure standing on the rocks. “Harry! Care for some tea?”

“Aye! And I know just the kind, too!” He plucked a few twigs from a low shrub, then came skipping back down the rocks. My yes, there was indeed a lot there for a little boy just starting to have his first crush to like. Even a not-so-little boy. Hercandoloff had never been terribly interested in men, but he knew a good looking one when he saw him. He accepted the plant, and grinned.

“Why Harry, you’ve been reading my botany books!”

“Wess is teaching me,” said Harry. “I can do many things I could not before I came here. This land is strange, but I think I prefer it to my own.”

Hercandoloff began preparing the plant for brewing, looking forward to tasting the orange-like flavour. “I’m glad you’re happy. Truth be told if you were miserable I would not have the first idea as to how to send you back.”

“I do not wish to go back,” said Harry, sitting down on a rock and leaning forward to scratch Sly’s tummy before remembering that wasn’t a dog. “I like it better here. And I am learning your language more day by day.”

Sly rolled to his paws, then poked his long nose at Harry’s hand. Harry resumed scratching, but clearly somewhat leery of scratching a shape-shifter. “Where I come from, he would be killed as a demon. But he is so gentle.”

“He’d be aggressive enough if he needed to be, I would imagine,” said Hercandoloff. “He’s just never had to be.”

There came a distant rumble, and they looked to the sky. “Was that thunder?” asked Harry.

“Hard to tell in these mountains,” said Hercandoloff. “There are so many strange creatures here. People these days try so hard to pretend magical creatures did not exist, never existed…” He sighed. “Some days I wonder if I am doing the right thing…”

“Why are you doing it?” asked Harry.

“Because of the despair I see around me,” said Hercandoloff. “Because I see people around me suffering and dying, and I see the Black Elves reduced to vicious skulking wraiths, and the crops dying, and people saying to me “If you can do this, please do it. We fear for our families.” But even then I ask myself if I have the right to do what I am doing. I’m changing the lives of millions of people so radically…”

“But you have many who believe in you,” said Harry. “Many who wish to see this change. You are not doing this against the wishes of many, only of a few who have motive to keep things as they are. To prolong the suffering.”

Well, well…. It seemed dear old Harry was not quite as dumb as past behaviour indicated.

“It is still a big responsibility,’ said Hercandoloff. “And if I make a mess of it, I will be seen as a villain forever more. Once we reach the valley, I will have a very long and hard think on this.”

“What is in this valley?” asked Harry, as Ilenya came back with the water.

“A well,” said Hercandoloff. “One of three wells, from which natural magic flows into this world, or at least used to. Legends say it was blocked. If we find it, and open it…”

“Hercandoloff!”

The fragile mage jumped as he heard a sharp, commanding voice. He looked up, and was stunned to see nothing less than twenty heavily armed soldiers. He, Harry and Ilenya exchanged glances, shocked and a bit horrified to learn they had been followed so closely without knowing. The leader of the group marched up to the little mage and stared down at him.

“Are you Hercandoloff?”

Harry stood up. He was dauntingly large, but he’d clearly never been up against an automatic weapon.

“Yes I am Hercandoloff, what is the…?”

The tiny wizard was grabbed so hard by the left arm that the limb snapped audibly. Ilenya backed up and went to Sly, holding the furry creature close, almost as if trying to hide behind him. Harry lunged to protect Hercandoloff, but a sudden blast of gun fire stopped him. Bleeding and writhing on the ground, he could do nothing as a soldier stepped over him and walked to Ilenya.

“Come on, kid. You’re coming with us.”

“No! I don’t want to! Leave me alone! DADDY! HARRY!”

The soldier reached out to grab the child, when Sly rose to all four paws, back arched, hackles raised, growling. The soldier paused.

“Your dog’s not gonna bite me, is he, kid? Be a real shame to have to shoot him.”

Ilenya was nearly in hysterics. “GO AWAY! Nobody wants you here!”

“Your daddy over there is trying to destroy the world,” said the soldier. “He’s crazy and he needs to be stopped before he hurts someone. Come on, kid, we’ll find you a nice normal home to grow up in.”

The soldier grabbed Ilenya, and suddenly…. Everything froze. The soldiers all stopped in their tracks, their eyes glazed and blank. The man who held Ilenya released him, and the boy retreated behind Sly, glancing at the massive wolf-like creature. Sly stared, lips pulled back, and it occurred to the child that Sly was doing… something. But he wasn’t sure what. After a few moments, the soldiers turned and began walking away, leaving in the direction whence they had come. They vanished from sight, then, after a only a minute or so, Ilenya heard screaming, and gunfire. He cried out and threw his arms around Sly’s neck, crying as he heard the soldiers destroying each other. Then there came a horrible silence. Hercandoloff dragged himself to a seated position, staring at Sly.

“What did he do?” he asked, staring in astonishment.

“I don’t know!” said Ilenya. “I don’t know what he did! He made the soldiers go away, but…”

Wess suddenly appeared, Snow Wolf behind him. “What happened?” she asked.

Hercandoloff and Ilenya explained as well as they were able, as she tended to Harry.

“He just stared at them!” said Hercandoloff. “Stared and then…. I never saw anything like it! It was astounding and horrible and terrifying!”

Wess went after the soldiers, returning after a brief time. “They’re all dead,” he said. “They killed each other…”

They stared at Sly in admiration and horror, as Ilenya cried into the soft fur. Sly nosed him, clearly concerned, as the boy wept.

“What did he do?” asked Hercandoloff. “Has anyone ever heard of such a thing? Aldesing would have mentioned it…”

“Perhaps,” said Wess quietly, “no one has heard of this, because no one ever bothered to treat such a creature as family. Maybe they can all do this, but don’t…”

“Wess, pick up Hercandoloff,” said Snow Wolf. “I’ll rig something up with which we can drag Harry. The valley is not far, let us get settled before we discuss this further.”

***---***

The stars shone overhead, and small insects and night birds chirped and sang in amidst the rocks. The tents were set up, and dinner was roasting over the fire – wild mountain sheep, in Sly’s honour. Harry was bandaged and weak but would recover, and Hercandoloff had his arm in a sling.

“I have never heard of the half-mycinocroft having such powers,” said Aldesing quietly, running his hand over Sly’s fur. “Our family has kept them for generations, and it was never even suspected that they had such a power…”

“We do not know if they can all do this,” said Wess. “What if it’s only Sly who can do this? And how would he know if others of his kind have the same ability?”

“We have to keep this secret,” said Hercandoloff. “He could destroy an entire army, if it becomes widely known…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Ilenya.

“Nor I,” said Harry.

One by one, they all swore an oath to keep their most powerful weapon safe, knowing that if his ability was discovered, there would be an endless train of bounty hunters, and worse, anxious to try their hand at conquering the werewolf of the Palaklais.

“So what now?” asked Athsfalia.

“Well, if my maps are right,” said Wess, “tomorrow we shove that gigantic boulder off what appears to be the shattered remains of a well and begin our new life.”

“Which boulder?” asked Hercandoloff.

Wess indicated a truly gigantic stone, easily fifty feet tall, weighting any number of tonnes.

“We have to move that to reach the well?” said Hercandoloff. “How exactly do we move that?”

There was silence.

“Do we have a “move the massive rock” spell?” asked Aldesing.

“I can make explosives,” said Wess.

“That counts,” said Hercandoloff. “Let’s get some sleep, and tomorrow see about moving this rock.”

The friends went into their tents. Ilenya tried to call Sly in, as did Wess, but Sly stayed by the fire, tail occasionally wagging in his sleep, huge ears alert for any movement.

The Court of Hercandoloff would not be bothered again as the old age of Dargoth drew to a close.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sly needs shoes, and Arrowsmith needs to get home.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Infamous and Sly stood at the entrance to the Valley of Giants. As they had been told, it was more of a chasm than a valley, with sandstone cliffs rising hundreds of feet about their heads, and a flat road cutting through it, likely crafted when the giants were first being carved from their tombs. Far in the distance, they could see the first of the giants; a vague, hooded figure, too distant to make out clearly. 

"Long run," said Infamous. 

Sly crouched down and put his long dark hand on the road, making a quiet sound. Infamous nodded.

"I was just thinking that. Come on, let's get back to camp, we have a lot to discuss with those knights."

Sly ignored Infamous and loped off to a small pond close by and dove in head first.

"Or not," said Infamous.

He walked back by himself, finding the trio enjoying setting up an early camp; Jaden was making lunch, Raben was seeing to his horse, and Hamish was cleaning his armor. All three glanced up as Infamous sat by the fire.

"That road is going to destroy your horses," said Infamous. "It's sandstone all the way down. Too hard for war horses carrying a knight in full armor to run that far, and if they throw a shoe them it's going to grind the hooves right off of them. You need something light and fast, and that's me and Sly. We'll take the bare minimum, leave off as much tack as we can, and set out alone."

"If the sandstone is too hard for hooves, it will be too hard for paws, which are far softer," said Hamish.

"I know," said Infamous. "I need to find hard leather or canvas, and some wood. The people of the far northern parts of our world have much of their lands covered in ice, which is nearly as hard on paws as sandstone. They make for their dogs little shoes. I learned how long ago. Three or four sets should get us through the valley."

"I can help!" said Jaden. "If you show me!"

"And what are we to do while you risk life and limb?" asked Raben.

Infamous and Jaden began scrounging for supplies. "Wait here," said Infamous. "There is no shame in acting wisely. There is no point in destroying three war horses, and possibly three knights as well, when Sly and I can make the journey easily and safely."

Jaden pulled a spare pair of old boots out of his pack and began gleefully reducing them to their base components. Well that was one set of shoes, with something left over for the second. Hamish took out a pair of gauntlets made with both leather and metal and began taking them apart as well. Infamous trimmed a wide swath of leather off the bottom of his full length cloak, and Raben sighed before pulling some scraps of leather out of his pack, likely left over from previous adventures.

"We will need tools, and gut," said Hamish. 

"I have tools," said Jaden. "But we will need something with which to sew the pieces. Gut or sinew... someone will have to hunt."

Infamous rose to his feet and shouted in the direction of the pond; "SLY!"

There came several loud splashes, and the sound of huge paws racing toward them. Seconds later, Infamous was knocked flying by a soaking wet mycinocroft covered in weeds and debris. Infamous did his best to fend him off.

"We need sinew and gut to make you shoes to get you through the pass! Go catch something!"

Sly sneezed, then shook water in all directions before racing off in search of game. Infamous distastefully picked himself off the ground. He was about to speak, when there came the sound of a heavy thud, and not very far off. There was screaming and roaring as something large fought for its life, the sound of ground being torn up, and finally a loud ripping and crunching sound. The four stood, listening, watching. After a few minutes, Sly returned, dragging with great effort, a deer with antlers nearly as broad as the road, that had, in life, stood taller than the war horses. He managed to haul it close to the fire, and dropped it. He then gave himself a shake, and loped off to the pond once more, leaving the knights and Infamous to stare at the animal with awe and horror.

"By all the gods," whispered Raben. 

"What is it?" asked Infamous. 

"They are called King's Elk," said Hamish. "Few dare hunt them, as they are very dangerous, and will attack hunters who dare let fly an arrow at them. They run from nothing, and only men are foolish enough to hunt the adults, or wolves if the pack is large enough."

"Well let's not waste the gift," said Infamous. "I'll start dressing it, then we can see about wasting as little as possible."

"Will Lord Sly not wish first pick of the more choice cuts?" asked Hamish.

"With venison he prefers the rear haunch. I will set that piece aside for him. Then I will..."

"Oh look!" said Jaden. "A little fox!"

Infamous' head shot up, and he stared at the small animal. She was skinny and matted, and possibly beyond the age where she could hunt for herself anymore. She had smelled blood, and come to beg in hopes she would not be greeted with stones and arrows. Infamous spoke a quiet prayer to her, then carved for her a piece of liver, tossing it to her. She grabbed it and hurried away before her hosts changed their minds.

"Friend of yours?" asked Hamish.

"With luck," said Infamous. He resumed cleaning and dressing the huge animal. Hamish knelt beside him to help. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was mid-afternoon when Arrowsmith and Monshikka arrived at Leslie and Rikke's apartment. They were greeted with tea, sympathy, and soup, all of which they enjoyed as Arrowsmith explained what happened.

"Some little asshole sabotaged us," said Arrowsmith. 

"How do you know?" asked Leslie.

"Because my travel crystal is missing, Monshikka's is missing, leaving only a blue crystal which is not strong enough to take two people and a motorcycle home, and the battlefield rose extract I carried with me in case I had to do a spirit walk, has been replaced with what I assume to be, judging by the taste, luna-berry jelly mixed with water. I smell the work of a six-year-old who may not live to be seven."

"Would Niri do that?" asked Rikke, aghast.

"Oh yeah. He hates me because I dared be upset when he blew Harley to bits."

"But Niri didn't close the liminals," said Leslie.

"No that is big magic," said Arrowsmith. "Very big magic. And not necessarily bad magic, either. Natural forces like earthquakes or tornadoes can disrupt a liminal, even a thunderstorm if it's bad enough. We've tried all the liminals we can reach apart from the one in Fraser Canyon."

"Why haven't you tried that one?" asked Rikke.

"Because you have to throw yourself off the cliff and into the river to reach it, and I'm a little hesitant to assume it's open right now."

"Ouch," said Rikke.

"Big ouch," agreed Arrowsmith. "Can we camp out here until we figure out how to get home?"

"Yes," said Leslie, "in fact I insist on it, I'll get a chance to practice my Dargothian. She looked to Monshikka and said; "Soup shit like pants, your Majesty?"

Monshikka blinked, then he and Arrowsmith slowly made eye contact. After a moment, Monshikka turned back to Leslie. "Today's lesson shall be inflections and emphasis, and where they go in certain words."

"Oh-oh," said Rikke. "Now we're in trouble."

The apartment door suddenly blew open, and in came a towering monument to 1950's bad taste, including a pink beehive wig that stood easily three feet high.

"I'm here, everybody, bask in my wonderful glow!"

"Maybe later, said Arrowsmith, as Monshikka stared in astonishment.

Philomena Phabulous was, by day, a mild-mannered large engine mechanic for a local trucking company. His name was Phil, he stood slightly taller than Arrowsmith, likely weighed a good fifty pounds more, all muscle, and sported tattoos and hands permanently darkened from engine grease. By night he tore up the stage in a few of the clubs as Philomena Phabulous, Queen of the Beehives.

"JOHNNY! How is my favourite leather boy? And who is this lovely princess?!" Philomena drew gloved hand to sequinned breast. "Oh my, you're so pretty I may have to beat the shit out of you. Speaking of beatings..." Monshikka was clearly NOT amused as Phil draped himself in the Ice Prince's lap and reached for a scone, "did you girls see that somebody laid an ass-kicking on Donny the Dipshit Dom? He was in Cocktail's Lounge last night and I swear he was missing teeth."

"Yeah we actually saw it happen," said Leslie.

"Really? Well who did it? Was it Kevin? It was Kevin, wasn't it? Please tell me it was Kevin."

Arrowsmith cleared his throat, grateful that Monshikka had not unleashed Kiriannan Rage on Phil for sitting on him. "Miss Philomena Phabulous, I would like to introduce to you His Highness Prince Monshikka Starlit, slayer of Donny the Dipshit Dom."

Phil actually managed to go pale beneath his layers of makeup, and slowly turned his head to look at the man he was sitting on. Monshikka was clearly not amused, and gazed back with centuries of polished arrogance. 

"Hi," said Phil cutely.

Monshikka spoke very little of the local dialect, but the look he gave Phil really did not need translating. When he uttered the single word, the room temperature actually dropped.

"Charmed."

Phil found a different place to sit. "So are you a real prince?"

Monshikka stared. Phil sat back in his chair and said "Well he's friendly."

"He is, when you don't walk into a room and sit on him like he's furniture," said Arrowsmith.

The conversation stopped when something in Arrowsmith's bag started a loud irate buzzing. He picked it up and opened it, and out stepped a large bug.

"Where did you come from?" he asked, as the creature stepped onto his hand. It was a gleaming metallic green, with huge eyes and a proboscis very much like an elephant's trunk. It made a tiny squeak, then began poking at things in the hopes they may be food. 

"What is that?" asked Leslie. "I mean it's cute but it's the size of a tennis ball."

The bug began relentlessly looking for food. Arrowsmith took some of the jam for the scones and gave it to the bug on a spoon. "It's an Emerald Honey Beetle. I wonder how it got into my bag?"

"How did you not know that was in your bag for two days?" asked Leslie.

"Well it was warm and dark so it probably just slept," said Arrowsmith. "Then it got hungry."

The little trunk sucked up jam, then began looking for other things to eat. Rikke offered it honey, and the bug accepted greedily. As they were watching the bug, a woman walked into the room with a heavy camera case, her long red hair thick and wavy. She set down the case and looked to Phil, eyes large behind her glasses. 

"Thank you for leaving me to park the car."

"Come look at the bug!" said Phil.

"Random, but okay. It's not a spider, is it?"

"No it's a tennis ball with an elephant trunk."

"Again - random. Oh hello Johnny, I didn't know you were in town."

"Hey Este," said Arrowsmith. 

Este came to look at the bug, and promptly melted. "IT'S SO CUTE! I love it, can I keep it?"

"Yes if it is a boy, no if it is a girl," said Arrowsmith. "The girls don't do well alone, they are rather communal and don't like to be by themselves. The boys are solitary and territorial."

"So how do we know if it is a boy?" asked Este.

"Well," said Arrowsmith, "the girls have greenish brown wings. The boys have iridescent wings. So if we can convince it to fly..."

Rikke picked up the honey, rose from the table, and moved a few steps away. The beetle waved its proboscis, puzzled, then raised its shell to allow the wings to pop out, and flew to Rikke, and the honey. The wings were an amazing rainbow blur.

"Look, it's a Pride Bug!" said Phil.

"It's a Honey Beetle," said Arrowsmith.

"No it's a Pride Bug!"

"Phil..."

"PRIDE BUG!"

"Fine, it's a Pride Bug. Este he will want dry grass to make a nest in, and lots of flowers and fruit and definitely honey. What are you going to name him?"

"Not sure yet. Something... Are you okay?"

Arrowsmith felt the dreaded compression creeping into his lungs, and he grabbed up a napkin to cough out a clot of blood.

"That would be a big fat 'no'," said Phil. "Johnny what the hell..."

"I'm okay," croaked Arrowsmith.

“Yeah I cough out big globs of blood all the time,” said Este. “Oh wait – no I don’t.”

Monshikka cleared his throat, and addressed Leslie. “If you will forgive us, Arrowsmith and I are going to argue in another language now.”

“Oh good, free language lesson.”

Monshikka looked to Arrowsmith. “We have to get you home. We cannot wait any longer.”

“Monshikka…”

“You’re sick.”

“So you go on ahead and…”

“NO! I will not go alone! You will not force me to abandon you here and possibly never see you again! You will not force me to explain to Infamous that I abandoned you to save my own neck.”

“I don’t think Infamous would see it that way,” said Arrowsmith.

“Wouldn’t he? How would you feel if the situation were reversed? If I came home and left Infamous behind, sick and alone? How could I face you? How could I face any of you? How could I face myself?”

“Monshikka…”

The pink eyes hardened into glass, and he spoke English in his heavy accent. “Don’t fucking argue with me.”

Arrowsmith backed down. “Okay.”

“Wow,” said Leslie. “Why do I have the feeling we are missing a few details?”

“Because you are,” said Arrowsmith. “In the meantime let’s just eat lunch and I’ll teach Este how to look after her Honey Beetle.”

“PRIDE BUG!”

Arrowsmith sighed. “And what do we call the ones that have the green-brown wings?”

“Well clearly those bugs have no pride.”

“And we have just discovered a new level of discrimination,” said Leslie. “Dissing harmless cute bugs because of something biological they have no control over.”

“It’s not my fault they have no pride.” Phil stared at Monshikka. “I am just dying to put make-up on you.”

Before Monshikka could say no, Arrowsmith spoke up. 

“If you want me to use that crystal, then Phil gets to do you up in full drag.”

Monshikka stared at Arrowsmith in outrage. “WHAT?”

“Those are the rules. Phil, get your makeup.”

Phil tore off to get his extensive makeup kit out of his car. Monshikka stared daggers at Arrowsmith, who just grinned, giggling.

“There will be repercussions,” said Monshikka.

“I know. Este? Get your camera out.”

“John Arrowsmith I hate you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They were in the guest room, bags packed, and a note for Leslie and Rikke letting them know that they would be back for their belongings once the liminals were established again. Travel crystals were all well and good, but Arrowsmith and Monshikka both felt it was too risky to travel when the liminals were closed.

“So what did The Moonhound say about this?” asked Arrowsmith, as he and Monshikka sat on the bed together, examining the pale blue crystal wrapped in silver wire.

“She specifically said it was weak, a prototype,” said Monshikka. “The magic is imprecise, and it cannot transport two unless they are…” he cleared his throat. “Merged.”

“Did she say what sort of merged, specifically?”

“No, why?”

“Well if I kiss you and I’ve got my tongue in your mouth, that’s merged. And will be a LOT less difficult to explain than the other sort of merging.”

Monshikka blinked. “It would, wouldn’t it? That almost makes up for you letting Phil put me in his ‘Jessica Rabbit’ dress.”

“You were gorgeous.”

“Yes I was, but that is beside the point. So where do we want to manifest? I suggest your room, less chance of Wess seeing me kissing you.”

Arrowsmith nodded. “Okay. Dressed or undressed?”

“Minimal clothing, I think.”

“Okay. Let’s get under the covers, because if this doesn’t work, I can just sleep. Okay – let’s smooch.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They lay together in the enormous bed, eyes closed, listening to the sound of birds in trees, smelling the blossoms of the fruit orchards, and not a truck or a Jake within light years. Arrowsmith heard Monshikka release a long sigh.

“I will not be mentioning this to Wess. Because I wasn’t anticipating enjoying myself quite so much.”

Arrowsmith tried, and failed miserably, to control an enormous grin that slowly spread across his face. Monshikka sat up and punched him in the shoulder.

“Smug, arrogant, bastard.”

“OW!” He laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but how can I not take that as a compliment?”

Monshikka smiled. “Yes I see your point.” He looked around the room. “Will the thieves tell Wess? Oh creation, Arrowsmith, I do not want this all over the castle, I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want Wess to know! I love him, I can’t bear the idea of betraying him, I just…”

“Monshikka,” said Arrowsmith softly, “Let’s go let everyone know we’re home. It will all be okay, I promise. We’ll just leave what happened in the other world and go on with our lives.”

Monshikka nodded. He rose from the bed, drew on a robe that had been tossed casually onto a chair, and departed. Arrowsmith released a long exhale, and closed his eyes.

“At least we’re home.”

“You know,” said a very familiar voice that left Arrowsmith both cold and sick to his stomach, “In the First Life, I didn’t like you, and was against allowing you into the Court.”

Slowly, Arrowsmith sat up and looked to the tall figure standing in the entryway to the chamber’s bathroom. Wess was damp, his long brown hair in a ponytail, wearing his knit sweater and breeches, looking every bit the young student-intellectual from 250-Mile-House he was. It was like looking a thousand years into the past.

“Are you going to kill me?’ asked Arrowsmith. 

“No,” said Wess. “But I’d be lying if I said I was not giving serious consideration to ensuring you never fucked anything again in this life. However clearly there is more to this picture than casual infidelity and I would like to hear it.”

Arrowsmith mused on how, like Infamous, Wess’ language skills improved with wrath.

“There was no infidelity, casual or otherwise,” said Arrowsmith. “We kissed and absolutely nothing else. We had to get home. The end.”

“And how does kissing factor into that?”

“The travel crystal Monshikka had was one of the first Hercandoloff ever made. It transports ONE person. ONE. The Moonhound said the only time it carried two was when she and Blackbird were having sex in the university library. How or why that would be – I don’t know. What I do know was I told him to go alone. He wouldn’t do it, he was too worried I’d be left behind for the rest of my life.”

Wess gazed at him from over his silver-rimmed glasses. “The liminal was open,” he said. Arrowsmith couldn’t decide if he sounded angry or confused.

Arrowsmith slowly shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “No that liminal was closed tight. We waited nearly three days for it to open. I had to leave Harley behind and I have no fucking clue how to get him back, and I was getting sick. We had to get home. He could have left me but he was scared I’d be lost.”

“From this side,” said Wess, “the liminal is open.”

“Well take it from me, it just became a one-way trip, and Harley is sitting in a parking garage wondering where I went.”

“Are you swearing to me that this is the only way you knew of to get home?”

“Do you want to grab a travel crystal and come with me and see?”

“Is that wise?”

Arrowsmith got out of bed, the bite aching. “Wess I am not going through the next thousand years of my life with you hating me. We need each other too much and I love you too much. That liminal was sealed, we were in trouble, we found a way home. The end. Are you coming with me?”

“Yes.”

“Then grab a green or a red travel crystal. The blue ones are too much trouble.”

***---***

Wess sat on the back of Harley, arms around Arrowsmith’s strong body. Arrowsmith did not know if Wess had fully forgiven him, but he was at least distracted. Wess dismounted the bike and walked to the area where the liminal between Dargoth and Earth should be. 

“It’s not just sealed,” said Wess. “It’s gone.”

“Gone?” said Arrowsmith. “As in destroyed?”

“Not even destroyed,” said Wess, holding up a Well Amulet. “Erased. As it if never was. It’s gone!”

Arrowsmith felt himself grow cold. “It can’t be.”

“Trust me, it is. This amulet connects directly to the three wells on Dargoth, it’s an incredibly powerful artifact. If that liminal was here we’d see it. It’s not.” Wess sighed and lowered the amulet, then turned to face Arrowsmith. “Well I can’t say I’m happy about you kissing Monshikka, but…”

“Wess I would never lie to you. And I would never hurt you intentionally.”

Wess gazed at Arrowsmith, his expression helpless. “I love him. That’s why it took so long to approach him, why it took me so long to say anything. I was so afraid he might not feel the same…”

“Wess if he didn’t care about you,” said Arrowsmith, “we would have been home that night.”

“And what about you? How are you?”

Arrowsmith snorted. “Me? I dunno. I’m sad and I’m angry and I’m sick and I’m scared, and every day I wake up and wonder if I’ll be here or trapped on SkullDigger’s Plane of Madness. I wonder if I will see Infamous again, and if he’s okay, and if there was any point in his going on that quest.”

“A quest I proposed,” said Wess softly. “Arrowsmith, I’m sorry.”

Arrowsmith sighed. “I’m not blaming you. We had no idea how these things would end up. Sometimes I swear the Universe throws shit at us just to see if it can break us up as friends.”

Wess walked over to him and put his arms around him, holding him tightly. “Take me home, Arrowsmith.”

Arrowsmith turned his head to kiss his face. “Let’s go. I have a funny feeling Monshikka needs you really badly right now.”

Wess moved to straddle Harley’s broad back, wrapping his arms around Arrowsmith, resting his face against the leather jacket. They were home in moments, the red crystal doing its work with ease. Arrowsmith looked over his shoulder at Wess.

“Still love me?”

“Hmm.”

“Still sorry you kept me?”

“Absolutely.”

The door opened, and Monshikka hurried into the room. “Arrowsmith I can’t find…” He stopped speaking as he saw Wess sitting behind Arrowsmith on Harley. “Oh. You… got Harley…” 

Wess raised his head to look at Monshikka. “It’s all right, Monshikka. We… talked…”

“And you don’t hate me and you’re not going to kill Arrowsmith?”

“No but I would like to discuss this whole matter of how you did not anticipate enjoying yourself so much.”

The only reason Monshikka did not go pale was because it was a physical impossibility. “YOU HEARD THAT?!”

“I was trapped in the bathroom, I… well…”

Monshikka was absolutely rigid with horror. “I betrayed my husband, and the husband watched. I think I want to die. WHY would you WATCH?!”

“Well you materialized on the bed while I was in the bath and…”

“I want to die.”

“So who’s better?’ asked Arrowsmith.

Monshikka fled. Wess sighed heavily. “I suppose I had best go catch him.”

“He adores you, Wess, you know that. If there is one thing I have learned over the last few days, it’s that no one in the world can ever take your place in his eyes.”

“Yes, but now I have a problem. I’m now not the only man he’s kissed, so clearly I’d best improve my love-making skills so he doesn’t get curious about what he may be missing.”

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen half the stuff on the third floor of the Forbidden Library? He knows it all. He could teach you a thing or two. Just ask him what his favourite book is.”

“I think I have another, more pressing question for him,” said Wess. “Namely - what sort of power would it take to erase a liminal?”

“Yeah that’s good one. Okay, round up your prince, I think we all need to talk.”

***---***

Arrowsmith poked at his supper, uncertain as to what was on his plate. Fortunately the rest of the Court looked the same way, so this wasn’t just a case of Arrowsmith being from another world. Supper was definitely a Something Weird mixed with a Something Scary. Misty was the only one actually eating it. 

“So what happened?” asked The Moonhound.

“The liminal from Earth to Dargoth is gone,” said Arrowsmith. “Monshikka and I thought it was just closed but Wess says it’s as if it had been erased. We were trapped.”

“And here we just thought you were having too much fun,” said The Moonhound. “How did you get home?”

Arrowsmith wasn’t going to lie, but he wasn’t going to tell the whole truth, either. “Monshikka had a travel crystal.”

Blackbird raised an eyebrow. He looked tiny and frail, and Arrowsmith hated it. “You had a travel crystal and it took you three days to use it?”

“It was one of the old blue ones,” said Arrowsmith. “We weren’t sure if it would work for two people. Monshikka didn’t want me to remain behind and maybe not be able to get back. So we took a chance.”

“Why don’t you tell them the truth?” asked a voice.

Arrowsmith looked toward the sound of the voice, and saw Niri. He winced inwardly. The child had been angry and upset enough by the loss of his parents already; now that Infamous was gone, Niri had gone from angry to malicious.

“I did tell the truth,” said Arrowsmith. “And you’re not supposed to be in here. You know better than to…”

“You’re lying!” yelled the little boy. “I heard you! The crystal wouldn’t carry two unless you were…!”

Niri flushed violently. Six was hardly old enough to be thinking about what grown-ups did in bed, but clearly the child had picked the information up from somewhere. He continued the rant.

“Infamous hasn’t been gone long at all! He’s coming back! And you were… with him!” He pointed at Monshikka. “I hate you! I hate you both!”

“Ohhhhh jooooyyy….” said Arrowsmith.

“Niri…” began Monshikka.

“Shut up, slut!”

Wess stood up so abruptly that the chair on which he was seated flew back with a scream of wood on stone. He grabbed Niri up under one arm and marched him out of the chamber, slamming the door after himself. 

“Well,” said Misty. “That was awkward.”

Arrowsmith looked to Monshikka, who had his head down, elbows on the table, his face in his hands. He was clearly mortified and humiliated.

“Not that it is any of our business,” said The Moonhound gently. “But…”

“But in a way it is Court business,” said Arrowsmith. “We kissed. The end. We were trapped. The liminal was gone, and I was getting sick. We had to go.”

“And the blue crystal only carries one person,” said Monshikka softly. “Unless it can be tricked into thinking two are one. You told me that when you gave it to me.”

“We were not going to say anything about it,” said Arrowsmith, “but since the Gods have a sense of humour, it turns out Wess was borrowing my bath when Monshikka and I manifested on the bed. And it… just went from there. How Niri found out, I have no bloody clue. But yes what this all boils down to is Monshikka and I kissed in order to get our dumb asses home, and now it is the worst-kept secret on all of Dargoth, and my adopted son who was never crazy about me in the first place hates my guts.”

“How is Wess taking this?” asked Misty.

“Well he’s not exactly doing joyful handstands, but it’s Wess. If he hated me he’d tell me, and if he wanted me dead we’d be having this conversation in the next life. I don’t think he will be over it anytime soon but I think he’s at least trying to use that fabulous Shallougha-inspired empathy he’s got going.”

“So you have talked about this with him,” said The Moonhound.

“We both have,” said Monshikka softly. “I think he was mostly worried I would now find him lacking in some way. Which is nonsense, I could never find him lacking.”

Niri walked into the room once again, this time sheet-white, eyes huge, his little face wet with tears. He had the Court’s undivided attention as Wess stood behind him, hands linked behind his back. Niri snuffled.

“I’m sorry I called you a bad word.” He then looked to Arrowsmith. “And I’m sorry I said I hate you.” 

“Now get to your room, the nurse-maid will be waiting to put you to bed,” said Wess softly. The child dutifully left. Wess sat down to his plate once more.

“What the hell did you do to that kid?” asked Arrowsmith with genuine awe in his voice.

“Well I’ve noticed,” said Wess, “that the kinder we try to be, the more obnoxious he gets. We’re all bending ourselves into knots to accommodate the poor orphan boy, but he’s not an orphan anymore. He’s adopted. He has two parents who are trying their hardest to love and care for him, and the rest of us playing Uncle and Auntie, and he’s using it to beat us over the head. So I marched him down to the underground temple and began making arrangements to have him put back into the orphanage, because clearly we could not handle him and he hated us all, and the little darling made the sudden and quite rational realization that acting like a miserable ass has serious ramifications.”

Arrowsmith grinned at him. “We all just underestimate the hell out of you, don’t we?”

“No one calls my husband a slut,” said Wess. “No one. Ever.”

“Not even after what I did?” asked Monshikka softly.

“You mean survive to get back to me? No. No one here did anything wrong. I’m not immensely pleased with the method, but you’re home. That’s all that counts. And anyone who says a word to you will lose their tongue.”

“Which leads us back to the reason Monshikka and I got into trouble in the first place,” said Arrowsmith. “The liminal is still open on this end, but from the Earth side, it’s completely gone.”

“It could be a natural occurrence,” said Blackbird. “They do shift over time.”

“But to vanish that completely?” asked Arrowsmith.

Blackbird shook his head. “There is word that a tremendous hurricane blew through White Plains, destroying homes and crops, and was even powerful enough to blow a large portion of the water out of a number of lakes. That would easily shut down liminals; that much wind roaring through could close or destroy them. My guess is that it will re-manifest someplace else. But I think from now on we shall make it a rule that no one goes anyplace without a red travel crystal. We nearly lost two people, we can’t risk it.”

“So you’re not worried about the liminal,” said Wess. 

“No,” said Blackbird. “They’re an element of natural magic. They move, they shift, they vanish. They’re not entirely reliable.”

“You realize how this affects me, don’t you?” said Arrowsmith. “I’m gonna be reborn on Earth. If there is no liminal…”

“The chances of there being absolutely no liminal at all is pretty minimal,” said Blackbird.

“What were the chances it would shift when Monshikka and I went to Earth?” asked Arrowsmith.

Blackbird nodded. “Yes I see your point. All right. I will start looking into magicks to ensure we can get you here, and if we can just keep you. It would be safer. But I have no idea if I can come up with something in this lifetime.”

“Just make sure you come looking for me if I don’t show, and if you only have blue crystals, send Infamous, otherwise it’s just awkward.” He grabbed up a napkin just in time to cough, smelling his own blood as it shot out his nose and up his throat. “Fuck it, I need to get to bed. If anyone needs me I’ll be hacking up blood, writhing in pain, and wondering where my husband is.”

Arrowsmith left, briefly checking in the nursery to make sure Niri was there and getting ready for bed. He was seated on the floor with his brother for once, paying attention and minding his manners as he was told a bed-time story. Good. Arrowsmith would like a chance to have an actual parental relationship with the kid instead of just endless hostility. 

He went to his room, undressed, took his medicine, and got into bed. He was just starting to drift off, when he heard the door open. Moments later, a warm body lay down on his right side, and moments later another lay down on his left. Eyes closed, face buried in his pillow, Arrowsmith did not even have to look up to know who it was.

“G’night Arrowsmith,” said Monshikka.

“G’night, Monshikka. Night Wess.”

“Sleep with my husband again and die.”

“You heard the man, Monshikka. You can’t sleep here.”

“Hilarious.” 

Monshikka slithered under the blankets. A few moments later Wess draped his arm across Arrowsmith’s shoulders. Peace and tranquility settled over the room, and soon both Wess and Monshikka were asleep. Arrowsmith waited until he was certain they were both quite unconscious before quietly slithering out of bed and going for the last place he was supposed to be – the Seer’s Room. He locked the door, seated himself on the rug, and lit the incense before pouring himself a glass of the rose wine.

He was going to find Infamous if it took every last ounce of strength he had.


End file.
